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"THE KERRY GOW" IN THIS ISSUE.
THE NEXT WILL BE THE GREAT HOLIDAY NUMBER. ORDER IT NOW!

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Scene from " The Informer " (page 74) '^ '

$100 to you if you solve the Mystery on page 116

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

TABLE OF CONTENTS, DECEMBER, 1912

GALLERY OF PICTURE PLAYERS:

PAGE

Alice Hollistcr i

Adele Lane 2

Crane Wilbur 3

l-'rancis X. Bushman 4

I.eo I^elanev 5

Lillian Walker 6

Jack J. Clark 7

Anna Q. Xilsson 8

Kichard Neill 9

PAGE

Jack Warren Kerrigan 10

Kuth Stonehouse ; 11

Florence La Iladie 12

Louise Glaum 13

Marc McDermolt 14

Florence Lawrence 15

Dorothy Kelly 16

Marion Leonard (colored art insert to sub-
scribers only).

PHOTOPLAY STORIES:

'I'lic Country Boy Gladys Rooscfclt 17

The Kerry Gow. Lulielfe Bryant 23

'Twixt Love and Ambition Henry Albert Plnlli[is 35

Linked by Fate Peter Wade 44

The Regeneration of Worthless Dan Courtney Ryley Cooper 53

From the Submerged John Olden 61

At It Again. Lttlu Montanye 69

The Informer Allen Stanhope 74

The Debt Montanye Perry 81

Miss Taku of Tokio Leona Radnor 87

The Non-Conmiissioned Officer Robert Carlton Brown 94

The Little Minister Edwin M. La Roche 103

(Note: These stories were written from photoplays supplied bj^^ Motion Picture
manufacturers, and our writers claim no credit for title and plot. The name of the
playwright is announced when known to us.)

SPECIAL ARTICLES AND DEPARTMENTS:

The Great Mystery Play 1 16

Chats with the Players 119

Vaudeville in Moving Picture Theaters Robert Gran 124

Musings of "The Photoplay Philosopher" 125

The French Settlers (Prize Contest) 129

The Tremolo Touch IVilliain Lord Wright 130

Popular Plays and Players 131

Answers to Inquiries 135

Greenrooin Jottings 156

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

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Owned' and published by The M. P. I'ublishinj? Co., a New York corporation, its
office and principal place of business, No. 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y,

J. Stuart BIackton» IVesident; E. V. Brewster, Sec.-Treas. Subscription, $1.50 a year
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(2 or I cent stamps only). We do not want scenarios, stories and plots except when ordered by us.
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STAFF FOR THE MAGAZINE:
Eugene V. Brewster Managing Editor

Montanye Perry ) Aecn^;-,**. t?^;*^^^ f'Uv L. Harrington, Circulation Manager

Edwin M. La Roche f -Associate Editors. y jj Kimmelmann, Advertising Director

Western, and New England Advertising Representative:

PuUen, Bryant & Fredricks Co., Chicago and Boston.

New York Office (Adv. Dep't only) : Fifth Avenue Building, 23d Street and Broadway.

THE MOTION PICTD8E STORY MAGAZINE, 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

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After reading these stories, ask your theater maoager to show you the films on the screen f

(Kalem)

CRANE WILBUR (P«th<Frtre.)

LEO DELANEY
(Vitagraph)

W»lt»fl»l»»»»»»>«l1»f«*IWf Mlffff««»»ffWf<»l«fl<N«l»IW*

ANNA Q. NILSSON (Kalem)

JACK WARREN KERRIGAN (Ametican)

RUTH STONEHOUSE (Essanay)

FLORENCE LABADIE (Thanhoiuer)

<ll>lfMH»<»»»tWWIWft»fl»f>«>WWWI»»»»«ftW>«l«f ♦•«•«•»•>•»

FLORENCE LAWRENCE (Victor)

Volume IV

Number 1 1

DECEMBER, 1912

The Country Boy

(Path* FtJi»)

By GLADYS ROOSEVELT

From the play of H. Handworth

HERALDED by 3 great cloud of dust,
and a cracking and snapping of
a mighty horse-whip, the High
Valley stage-coach swept around the
gulch on two wheels, and drew up
before Old Pete's ranch-house, with a
prolonged whoa. Not that Stage-eoach
Sandy had taken the whole trail at
that speed — far from it, in these
civilized days, when stage-coaches are
held up only by daring damsels from
the East in search of adventure denied
them at home— but the latent dare-
devil spirit within him could not re-
sist bringing foi'th frightened gasps
from the pale-cheeked girl who was
his only passenger.

She sat huddled in one corner, sur-
rounded by numerous bags and coats
and bundles, her feet and elbows
braced against the swaying of the

coach, her lips pressed tight in an
effort to suppress her fear, which,
however, found outlet thru her wide,
startled eyes.

This was Betty Williamson's very
..first trip to the wild, much-storied,
pictured, aye, Motion-Pictured, West,
and she was forced to make it alone,
and for her health. The doctor had
promised that a few months in the
clear, dry air of Colorado would
restore the vigor to her drooping
spirits, so her father had written to an
old college friend, who had settled on
a ranch, and made arrangements for
his daughter's comfort.

The railroad journey from New
York had been much to Betty 's liking,
but the loneliness of the long trail
over plains and mountains, and thru
canyons, now hot and flat and dusty,

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

now between dark-timbered passes,
now narrow and winding, clinging
closely to the mountainside, while
precipitous cliifs dropped away into
the gully hundreds of feet below — all
wore on the girl's shattered nerves.
She started at each crack of the whip,
and each lurch of the coach set her
trembling; the sight of the narrow
passes and the bottomless chasms
struck terror to her heart. Small
wonder, then, that when Sandy drew
rein before Pete's ranch-house, Betty
was almost too weak to stand.

The unaccustomed gusto and speed
of the lumbering vehicle's entry drew
a crowd at once, and Betty alighted
into the midst of High Valley's curi-
ous citizens, a timid, trembling object,
gazing with frightened eyes into a
host of unfamiliar faces. At last,
from out the mass, the features of her
father's friend, "Old Peter," met her
eye, bronzed and aged, to be sure, but
still wearing the same smile as in the
class-day picture she knew so well,
and so she placed her hand trustingly
in his, and began to feel a little less
forlorn.

Beliind him stood a young man, also
tall and bronzed, who exchanged a
smile of friendly greeting with her,
and then busied himself with her lug-
gage. Betty felt that it might not be
so bad out in Colorado after all, if
cowboys and ranchmen were all as
well-mannered as these.

"For my old friend Jim's sake,
welcome to High Valley, and to Old
Peter's ranch!" was Pete's greeting,
once they were within the shack-house.
"And for your own sake, too, for I
guess we're pretty much in need of a
girl around these diggings, to brush
up our manners. How about it, Bob ? ' '
he questioned, turning to the young
man, who was following with the
luggage.

"This, Miss Williamson, is my
right-hand man, and right-hearted
friend, Bob Saunders," he added,
slapping him affectionately on the
back. "And this. Bob, is the young
lady I warned you was coming to
improve our etiquette."

"We certainly are glad to have you

come," Bob said, simply, clasping her
hand firmly, and looking squarely into
her eyes. "It is well for you that Pete
warned us, tho — I sewed up the
sleeve of this shirt this morning in
honor of you."

Betty laughed brightly. The novel
informality of the place was getting
into her veins already, like a tonic.

"Here's Aunt Sally T" announced
Pete, as an old negro woman shambled
into the room. "She's our salvation.
Whatever good is left in us is due to
her. Aunt Sally, here is your new
charge. You 've got to look after her,
and see that she gets strong and
well."

"Lor!" she exclaimed. "Ah reck-
ons that'll be th' easiest job ah done
had sence ah been here. Aint noth-
in' th' matter with them cheeks,
they's as pink as that there table-
cover."

And Betty suddenly realized that
she was not at all frightened, but was
really enjoying the novelty of new
ways and new people.

Her assurance was short-lived, how-
ever, for, turning around to note the
queer, rough furnishings of the room,
she was startled to find a Chinaman
standing behind her, calmly inspect-
ing her dress.

"Dont be alarmed. Miss Betty,"
Pete interposed, seeing her evident
distrust of the man. "Hop Lee is
perfectly safe ; he is our cook, and he
will make you some of the most
wonderful dishes you ever ate. Wont
you, Hop?"

Hop Lee continued to regard Betty
with imperturbable expression for a
moment, before vouchsafing a reply.

"Makee like fun," he retorted, at
length, and departed noiselessly, his
hands tucked up inside his wide
sleeves, his pigtail bobbing with each
abbreviated step.

Betty was nonplussed.

"He isn't exactly polite," she ven-
tured.

"Oh, that's just his way of saying
'With pleasure!'" Bob assured her.
"He's painfully polite, really. Why,
he has more manners and customs
than all the rest of us put together."

TEE COUNTRY BOY

Betty was not quite convincecl as to
the race in general, hut she knew that
she did not have to be afraid of that
Chinaman, anyway.

' ' Now take me around and show me
all the things I've read about, cow-
boys and bronchos and your wonder-
ful scenery. I think I shall enjoy it
more, now that I feel I'm in safe
hands. ' '

And Pete, noting the eager expres-
sion that lit up Bob's face at the

his frank, free manhood, broad-think-
ing, plain-speaking, true; she, rich in
her woman's intuition, gentle, win-
some, sincere.

So, thru the afternoon they wan-
dered. He took her to his favorite
haunts of forest and cascade, found
rare flowers for her, pointed out
strange birds. When she exclaimed
over the invigorating air, and threw
back her head to enjoy it, he showed
her how to draw in deep breaths of it

OLD PETER WELCOMES BETTY TO HIS KANCII

suggestion, promptly detailed him to
be her escort.

So the two started out, but, if the
truth be told, the scenery had not
their undivided attention. For, after
all, what in Nature is as wonderful as
human nature, and what road more
interesting than the road to friend-
ship? While they looked down from
the heights of the mountains, and
watched, with enthusiasm, a typical
round-up in the valley, they looked
across from the heights of their
ideality, and found their eyes on a
level, each measuring up to the
standard of the other: he, strong in

correctly, till the canyon rang with
their laughter over her quaint efforts,
and the demon of illness knew that his
dooni was sealed.

It was the flaming face of the sun-
set that recalled to them the hour, and
sent them back to the ranch-house,
where they said good-by, with the
promise of more delightful climbs to
come. Bob lingered at the door-step,
after she had gone, and pledged him-
self to the task of making her strong
and well. But the boys, hovering
near-by, could not know how worthy
were his thoughts; they could judge
only by appearances, and when a

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

man stands stock still on a door-step,
and stares at a door which has just
closed on a girl, there is only one
interpretation in the cowboy mind. So
poor Bob, not being in the humor to
stand their jokes, speedily took him-
self off to his shack.

The passing weeks flew by, with
walks and climbs and pleasant talks,
and, daily, Betty's health grew better,
daily the bond of comradeship grew
stronger — until, at last, she was quite
well, and her father sent for her to
come back to the handsome home in
New York which so sorely needed her,
and to her merry circle of friends.
And Bob, awoke one day to find him-
self standing in the middle of the
road, a cloud of dust in the distance, a
merry voice ringing in his ear — "IBe
sure to write to me,' and a little piece
of pasteboard in his hand, bearing
the inscription :

MISS ELIZABETH WILLIAMSON

300 ItlTEBSIDB DBIVB

But he also awoke to several other
things, and straightway went to his
favorite mountain haunt to thresh
them out. First of all, he loved Betty
— Gloved her with the whole clean, un-
tarnished soul of him — and he had let
her go without telling her so. Next
he found that Colorado was a barren,
sunless, songless land without the
glory of her presence. Then, the life
of a ranchman and cowboy became
unsatisfying; it led to no great
heights of achievement, gave no grati-
fication of ambition, no chance for
much growth of mind. At last the
thought took hold of him, and grew
and grew, that if he went to the East,
to the great city of opportunity, he,
too, could achieve and do and become,
for Betty would be there.

He came down out of the mountain,
the light of a great determination on
his face, and the very day that saw
Betty welcomed home, by friends and
family, saw Bob mount the old stage-
coach out in High Valley, with his
comrades bidding him God-speed, and
faithful Pete shouting admonitions
after him.

One wonders what a Westerner,
bred in the vast rolling expanse of
Nature's building, where mountains
rise thousands of feet and roll down
infinite depths, only to rise sky-high
again — one wonders how the new
Pennsylvania Station in New York,
which seems so great a work to East-
erners, impresses such a man. One
wonders how the city of opulence, its
hurry, its sham, strikes a man who has
lived all his life where every stone
rings true, and every man is known
for what he is, rather than for what
he has.

But one must keep on wondering,
for Bob's attitude will not enlighten
him, owing to undue influence. I
really doubt if he ever saw the sta-
tion, or heard ifte noise in the street,
for the picture in his eyes and the
singing in his heart. As straight as
steel to magnet, he was drawn to her
house, and, as he approached it, she
came down the steps with her mother
and father. Genuine glad surprise
shone in her face as she greeted him
and presented him to her parents.
Her handclasp Jbespoke the same good-
fellowship as before, but Bob was to
meet his first rebuff in the indifferent
attitude ""f the girl's father, the cold-
ness of her mother, and in the call of
social duty, which forced them to step
into the waiting motor and drive off,
leaving him standing, alone, on the
sidewalk.

Alone in a great city, hemmed in by
high brick walls! Alone, with no-
where to go, and Betty speeding out
of sight! Alone! And the joy of
return, and meeting and being to-
gether, past!

For many blocks he walked on,
dazed, until he came to a fire-house,
into which the firemen were trying to
back an engine. Instinctively, he
offered to help, and, when he got his
hand on the powerful machine, he
found a satisfaction in pitting his
strength against it. It seemed to take
the pressure from his mind.

"I believe I should like to become
a fireman," was his unexpected reply
to the men's word of thanks.

A man looked him over critically.

THE COUNTRY BOY

"You'd do," he declared. "You've
got the huild for it. Why dont you
take the civil service examination?
Here's a card that will tell you all
about it."

And so it happened that Boh he-
came a fireman. And how he achieved
fame, and what he dared and did, we
shall see.

It is a bright, sunshiny morning,
some weeks later, and Mr. William-
son is seated in the window of the
factory ofiice, the sun streaming down
upon his desk, examining some tex-
tiles under a maguifying-glass, when
Betty bursts in,
and begs him to
show her around
the new building.
Reluctantly, h e
puts d w n his
work, and goes
with her, show-
ing her the new
machinery, a n d
introducing h e r
to the foremen.

Now, it hap-
pens that the
magnifying-glass
has been laid on
a piece of paper,
a n d directly in
the sunlight. Be-
fore many min-
utes have passed,

from the magnified raj's there springs
a little tongue of flame, which twists
and turns and gi'opes and reaches
out, quickly consuming the paper.
Unsatisfied, it spreads toother papers,
crackling them in its grasp — and now
the cloth — to the woodwork of the
desk — growing stronger with each new
ai-ticle it feeds on. Soon the whole
desk is burning, and the flames have
spread to the rug, the floor, the walls,
consuming hungrily, insatiably, every-
thing they touch. Smoke begins to
fill the building, men rush for chem-
ical extinguishers, girls flee to stairs
and fire-escapes, while the fire gains
greater headway, roaring, sputtering,
hissing, in its greediness.

Fireman Bob is sitting in his quar-

EX^lMINING THE TEXTURES UNDER
THE MAGNIFYING-GLASS

ters, in a thoughtful, almost dejected,
attitude, which has become almost
habitual with him, except when
called to action, when the alarm
rings. He is on his feet and into his
boots in an instant, and slides down
the pole a full minute ahead of his
fellows. The alarm shows the fii'e to
be in the center of the factory dis-
trict, a fact which is enough to strike
terror to the stoutest heart. Another
half-minute, and they are speeding to
the rescue.

Meanwhile, the smoke in the build-
ing has become blinding. Betty,
separated from her father by fright-
ened factory-
hands, has been
driven to the top
of the building,
by the ever in-
ci-easing heat and
smoke. She
uudces her way to
the w i n d o w ,
stifled for a
breath of air.
She leans out, in
an efl:ort to call,
li u t no sound
comes from her
throat.

Below, men are
shouting orders,
t li e fire - engine
has arrived, and
the in en are
playing the hose and adjusting the
ladders. A frenzied man — people say
he is the owner of the factory — cries
out: "My daughter! Save my daugh-
ter! She must be on the top floor!
We were separated ! Who will save
her?"

Bob, who has kept his head in this,
his first great fire, has seen a girl lean
out of the top-story window, and then
stagger back. With iron nerve, he
adjusts the ladder and makes his way
up. The flames roar at him in fury,
the dense smoke all but suffocates him.
At last he reaches the window, and
climbs in.
"Betty!"
"Bob!"
Then for her, blessed oblivion !

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

For him, the realization that for
this has he been called out of his
native West; for this has his spirit
yearned to be strong and to achieve.
For a moment, the exaltation and the
glory of it fires him. Then the agony
of the situation sweeps over him, and
fear assails him for the first time in
his life — fear for his so precious
burden. Hesitation, doubt, mistrust
of his own prowess wring him thru
and thru, only to give way before the
power of his tremendous will, and, as

he steps out upon the ladder, he is
once more the fireman — calm, cool-
headed, unflinching, answering the
call of duty and of humanity.

The picture seems to fade. I can-
not see distinctly, for the smoke that 's
in my eyes. And yet I feel, I know,
that all is well.

The Kerry Gow

iKalein)

By LULU MONTANYE

V This play was purchased from Mr. Joseph Murphy, the original author, and produced in Ireland by the Kalem
Company, under the direction of Sidney Olcott.)

"X TOW listen to me, Miss Nora; are
In y^ goin' to mind what I'm
sayin'.?"

"Not if you're goin' to be cross,
Alice."

Nora Drew laughed roguishly at
tile exasperated look that Alice Doyle
fi.xed upon her, and, when Nora
laughed, the twinkle, that always
danced in her Irish-hlue eyes, leaped
forth into quivering, dazzling lights
that made her irresistible. In spite
of herself, the older woman smiled at
the sunny face.

"Cross, is it?" she said, hastily.
"Faith! is it me that ye call cross?
No one ever saw me cross but Dennis,
and, sure, if a woman cant get cross
at her own husband, there's no use
gettin' married at all, at all!"

"Now, Alice, dear, sure it's little
you mean what you 're sa.yin '. ' '

"Dont I? Mind me now, Miss
Nora ; a married woman has some
experience iu life, and that same ex-

perience teaches her not to waste her
temper on outside parties, when she 's
a husband at home who needs the
benefit of it."

"Well, then, dont be scolding me
for teasing Dan a little. ' '

"Dan's a fine lad, and it's time
enough to be teasin' him after ye get
him, tho it's true that men are a
desavin' lot, and a woman's not to be
blamed for distrustin' 'em. Whin a
man axes for your heart, he'll kneel at
your feet and sigh, but whin he's got
it sure, he buttons it up in his breast-
pocket, and forgets whin he bruises
it!"

' ' That 's a terrible reputation you 're
giving the men, Alice ; I dont think T
shall ever marry at all. But, look,
who is tliat coming?"

Both women leaned forward, look-
ing at a solitary horseman who was
dismounting beside the low hedge that
separated the farmyard from the
smooth country road. He was in

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

military dress, and, as he came for-
ward, doffing his cap respectfully, his
eyes lingered, with evident pleasure,
on Nora. Her cheeks were flushed a
trifle with the excitement of greeting
a stranger; her brown curls were
ruffled by the crisp breeze, and the
blue eyes, that met his so frankly,
were very pleasant.

"May I trouble you for a drink of
water?" the stranger asked. "I am
exhausted from a tramp over your
green hills, and I will repay your
kindness by presenting you with a
brace of birds."

"In Ireland, sir, we dont take pay
for hospitality," replied Nora, but
Alice interposed, offering a brimming
mug of water, while she stretched out
a hand for the birds.

"Arrah whist. Captain, never mind
the girl. Sure, she dont like to touch
anything that's dead. She has given
ye the sentiment, but I'll take the
birds."

"For shame, Alice!" cried Nora,
impulsively, but Alice, laughing, ran
off with the birds, and Nora was left,
perforce, to entertain the stranger.

"A pretty place you have here," he
said, his eyes taking in the quaint
beauty of the prosperous homestead,
with its comfortable cottage and
dairy, its wide-spreading trees and
well-kept gardens. "And is this your
brother coming?"

The quick blush that spread over
Nora's face, as she turned to greet the
stalwart young man who was hurry-
ing toward her, was proof that the
newcomer was not a brother, even
before she spoke, with winning shy-
ness.

"Oh, no, sir, this is Dan."

"And who might Dan be?" he
queried, laughing at her shyness.

"I'm called about here the Kerry
Gow," replied Dan, speaking for him-
self, good-naturedly, as he saw noth-
ing but honest friendliness in the
stranger's eyes ; "and you, sir, are the
Captain of the soldiers."

"Right you are, my lad, but what
does Kerry Gow mean?"

"The Kerry blacksmith, sir."

"Oh, then you must be Dan

O'Hara," said the Captain, looking at
Dan with new interest. "Well, I've
heard you well spoken of, and I doubt
not you'll present a clean record when
my men call at your shop."

"There's no man in County Kerry
with a cleaner one, sir," was the
proud reply, and, as the Captain,
with a last admiring glance at the
pretty Nora, rode away, Dan looked
down at Nora with an adoring smile.
"Sure, it aint his min that are
troublin' my heart," he said softly,
"it's a slip of a teasin' girl, and ye
know her name, Nora, dear."

"Whatever did the Captain mean
about the soldiers comin' to your
shop, Dan? It scares me! What's it
about a clean record — ^what's the
trouble?"

"No trouble for me, my darlin', at
all. But you know there's trouble-
some times in Ireland just now, and
the Government is searchin' all over
the country for concealed arms and
the likes of that ; so I suppose they're
comin' to my shop to see if my work is
honest, and no swords or pikes around
my forge."

"Pikes are what they fight with,
aint they?"

"You're right ; that's what the boys
in Ireland use when they discourse
politics with the Government."

"What could they do with a black-
smith if they found him makin'
weapons?"

"Hangin' is the penalty; for one
blacksmith could arm hundreds of
rebels. But you've no cause for fear ;
Dan 'Hara niver works in the dark,
and they're welcome to all the pikes
they can find in my forge. But,
Nora, dear, niver mind all that now ;
tell me, when are you goin' to say yes,
and marry me?"

Nora's face settled into wistful
lines, and the twinkle fled from the
blue eyes, at the serious tone.

"I'd like to say yes, Dan," she
whispered, "but you haven't got
father's consent yet, and I cant talk
to you until you do. You see, my
mother's dead, and he's no one but
brother Raymond and me to comfort
his old age, and, since Raymond went

THE KERRY GOW

off to school, father seems to depend
on me more and more. But now that
Raymond's come home, I'm thinkin'
he will help us out, for he likes you,
Dan. Sure, here comes father now,
with Raymond and Major Gruff, and
they all look as serious as tlie priest
on a Sunday. You 'd better go, Dan ;
I'm thinkin' it's no time to be arguin'
with father just now."

With a quick pressure of his sweet-
heart's fingers, Dan obeyed her sug-
gestion, and she turned to the ap-
proaching men, asking, anxiously,
about the eaiise for their grave faces.

"It's just this, Nora," the Major
said. "Your father is in sore trouble,
and I've proposed a possible way out
of it, but he wont listen to me, and it's
angry at me lie is for even mentionin'
it."

"What is the trouble ? ' ' Nora asked,
anxiously.

"The girl needn't be bothered witli
it," Patrick Drew began, angrily, but
Raymond interrupted him.

' ' Yes, ' ' he said, ' ' Nora must know ;
it is better for her to be prepared,
than to have trouble come unex-
pectedly. You see, Nora, fatlier mort-
gaged tlie farm to get money for my
college education. I never knew it
until today, when the Major told me,
against father's wishes. In two weeks
the mortgage falls due, and there is
no money to pay it. It seems that we
will have to leave the old home."

"Leave the old home!" Nora
echoed, her cheeks whitening. "Oh,
surely, there is some way to raise the
mone.y — what can we do?"

"There's just one thing could be
done, Nora," declared the Major,
"but your father wont listen to
reason. There's to be races hei"e soon,
and I've been tryin' to get him to
allow Raymond to run his hoi'se —
there's a good purse up, and the
money would save the place. But
your father dont believe in racin',
and he wont consent. ' '

"No, I wont," declared Patrick
Drew, turning an angry face to his
son. "I dont believe in horse-racin',
boy ; ye know that. It 's the edieation
of a gintleman I've given ye, and I'm

not sorry I mortgaged the place to do
it, even if it's causin' me bitter
trouble now. Somehow, it'll come out
right. But mind what I'm sayin' —
ye've a fine horse, but whin the races
come off, ye '11 leave that horse to eat
his oats in peace in his own stable."

"Who holds the mortgage?" asked
Nora, suddenly. Her eyes were fixed
on a man who was coming up the
road, and there was a look of startled
dread and fear in their blue depths.

"Hay, the land-agent — and there
he comes now," Raymond exclaimed,
his eyes following his sister's.

There was an evil smile lurking on
the land-agent's face as he greeted the
little group, with elaborate politeness,
and requested a few words with
Patrick Drew, alone. Nora looked
after them with troubled eyes, as they
went into the house, and, as she
Avalked slowly down to the hedge and
stood leaning on the little wicker gate,
she wondered, sorrowfully, if iier
brother had told her all the trouble.
Somehow, she felt sure that he had
withheld something, and the dread in
her eyes deepened as she thought of
Hay's evil smile. A step sounded on

CONCEALING PIKES IN DAn's SHOP

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the grass, and Hay stood close beside
her, bowing low, as he spoke in smooth
tones.

"How fortunate I am, Miss Nora. T
feared I should not have a chance to
speak to you."

"Please let me alone," begged poor
Nora. "It's come out here I have to
fly from sorrow ; dont pursue me with
it."

"That's the farthest from my in-
tentions, pretty one. Hasn't your
father told you that I bought up the
mortgage on purpose to save you and
yours from trouble — that all you have
to do is accept my suit, and I give the
papers to him?"

"So that's the part they wouldn't
tell me!" cried Nora, her cheeks
blazing. "And you think I'd sell my-
self to you! You were never more
mistaken, Mr. Hay. The Drews aint
that kind of folks."

"Ah," he sneered, "then it is true,
as I heard. You prefer the black-
smith — that poor, ignorant lad."

' ' Poor he is, but not ignorant — nor
is he blaek-soiiled like yourself! Be-
tween you and him there lies a gulf
you can never bridge. It's me that
will share poverty with him, if need
be!"

"You'll talk differently, my pretty
lady, two weeks from now, when you
see your old father leaving his home,''
Hay growled, angrily, as he climbed
into the smart trap that awaited him
by the roadside. "Just think it over
till I see you again — ^perhaps your
precious blacksmith wont look so good
to you, then."

Rage burned in the land-agent's
heart, as he drove homeward, his
feelings tingling with the fearless
girl's rebuff.

"If it wasn't for the blacksmith, it
would be easy," he muttered. "Some-
how, I 've got to get rid of him ! Once
he's out of the way, she will give in,
rather than see her father suffer."

But the blacksmith had no inten-
tion of getting out of the way. On the
contrary, his sympathy and devotion
in their time of trouble won favor
from Patrick Drew. Every day Dan
came to the Drew homestead wjtU

some word of cheer or some new sug-
gestion, and the old man learnt to look
for him with kindly eyes.

"Ye 're a good lad, and I appre-
ciate your kindness; it's like another
son ye seem to me, ' ' he said one day,
and Dan looked up quickly, his eyes
kindling. Now was the chance for the
question he had so dreaded to ask.

"Arrah, and that's just what I'd
like to be, Mr. Drew," he said, his
honest face flushing; "if ye'd let me
be a son to ye in real earnest, there 'd
be two sons, instead of one, to work
for ye, in case things go wrong."

Then, as Nora came forward, slip-
ping her hand into Dan's, and look-
ing, pleadingly, at her father, he
suddenly understood.

"What — rob me of my Nora, now,
when I 'm losin ' everything else ? " he
said, sadly. "Ah, Dan, it's another
sore trouble you're bringin' upon
me."

"Ah, no, sir," cried poor Dan;
"dont say that — sure, we love each
other, and it's far from me to be
wantin' to take her heart from ye.
There's room in it for us both, and
we'll both be good children to ye."

"Well," consented the old man,
slowly, "it's a sore trouble to give her
up, for it seems like puttin' your
heart between hers and mine. But
she's lookin' up in my face with her
mother's eyes — and I cant say no.
Take her, Dan; thank God, you're a
good, honest man."

With a cry of joy, Dan caught Nora
in his arms, and there was a moment
of perfect happiness. Only a moment,
however, for, to Dan's amazement, a
heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and a
stem voice said :

"I believe you told me your name
was Dan O'Hara?"

It was the Captain who had made
their acquaintance a week before, and
Dan looked at him wonderingly as he
replied: "I did, that."

"Then I am very sorry, but my
duty compels me to make you my
prisoner."

"Now, did any one iver see the like
of this?" cried Dan. "What have I
done to a livin' soul that I should

TEE KERRY GOW

be a prisoner? What's the charge,
Captain?"

"Pike-maker for the rebels. In-
formation was given ; yovir shop was
searched, and a quantity of pilces was
found in your forge."

"Oh, Dan," screamed Nora, cling-
ing to him desperately, "it isn't true,
is it ? Why, it means death — ^j'ou told
me so ! "

"Aisy, Nora, dear," said Dan,

it will be found out. Give me a smile
now, to take to my prison cell with
me."

"Evei-ything shall be done to clear
this up, Dan," said Patrick Drew,
taking the blacksmith's trembling
hand. "Raymond will help you, and
the Major. We all believe in you."

"Then I'll keep up my courage,"
Dan answered. "Good-by, sweetheart,
and hope for the best, but if the worst

GIVE ME A SMILE NOW, TO TAKE TO MY PRISON CELL

patting her head, as he tried to speak
calmly. "(Captain," he continued,
looking that officer straight in the
eyes, "I niver made a pike in me life;
I cant undenstand — who gave the
information ?"

"I cannot say — it was under seal.
I am sorry for you, Dan ; I only
execute my orders. ' '

"Now, Nora, darlin'," said Dan,
bravely, "dont weep like that; it's
some mistake that will be set right.
Some one is wantin' me out of the
way — I dont know who it can be, but

comes, remember that Dan O'llai'a
was an innocent man, and that he died
lovin' ye in his last minute. Be brave,
me darlin'."

But, as Dan marched calmly away,
between the lines of soldiei's, Nora
fell, fainting, into her father's arms.

"Ah, well, the days do seem terrible
dreary," sighed Dan, sitting by the
little table in his cell. "Well, as long
as we have soldiers and jailers,
they've got to be after eai-nin' their
money some way, I suppose. Society

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

wouldn't feel aisy unless it had some
poor boy under lock and key, and,
faith ! being locked iip in a stone jug
like this doesn't improve a nmn like
it does liquor."

"Hello, Dan," a voice interrupted
his musings. It was the Captain, who
had come in so quietly that Dan had
not heard the sound of the door open-
ing. "I hope they are making you
comfortable. Is there anything I can
do for you 1 ' '

rj avexrx^-v.ja!-

■'Sure, I'm as
comfortable as a
man can be,
penned up like
this," the prison-
er replied, "and
it's kind of ye to
be comin' in to
see me, sir."

"I've got a
nice surprise for
you, Dan. Whom
would you like to
see coming, just
now?"

"Faith! I see
it in your eyes —
it's Nora! Can
it be true, sir,
and me with my
eyes a-hungerin'
for her sweet face
till it's half
crazed I am?"

"Well, keep
sane a few min-
utes longer, ' '
laughed the Cap-
tain, as he left
the cell, and Dan
stared after him,
listening eagerly for the light foot-
fall he hardly dared to hope for.
At last it came — a quick tread — a
hasty rush thru the cell door — ^two
arms stretched out to him — a sweet,
tear-drenched face upturned to his.

"Oh, Nora, dear," he sighed, "is it
yourself? Do I hold you in my arms
again, or is it another dream?"

"Ah, Dan, when they shut you up,
they put my heart in a vise at the
same minute ; it echoes every sigh you
utter, and, if they send you to the

scaffold, it's two lives tliey'll be takin',
for my soul will be seekin' yours."

"Aisy, now; dont be talkin' that
way. Sure, when the scaffold is built
for me it's time enough for me to be
complainin' of sore throat."

Dan's old, confident smile accom-
panied this assertion, and his eyes
were so merr^' and bold that Nora
looked up with quick suspicion.

"What do you mean, Dan?"

'Now, darlin',

»',yrv.r**i»*<^nj>vt*qBCVWJg»'cyffv jj

DAN UNFOLDS TO NORA HIS PLAN
OP ESCAPE

31! listen to every
word, for I have
to talk low and
quick. Last night
I stood up on the
cot, and was look-
in' out of me
window, there,
and who should I
see but D i n n y
Doyle, hidin' be-
low, at the foot
o f the prison
wall, waitin' in
hopes that, some-
how, I'd see him,
and he could be
after helpin' me.
So I took a pin,
and pricked a
message on a bit
of paper, and I
told him to go to
me shop and find
a pair of breeches
and boots, just
like the ones I
have on, and to
bring them here
in the night.
Well, he did it,
and he tied them to a long string,
wid a stone on the other end, and
threw the stone up till it caught in the
bars of the Avindow. Thin, ye see, I
drew up the clothes, and I have 'em
hid under the bed. Now, tonight, I'll
dress up a dummy in the clothes, here
by the table, and, when the guard
comes in wid my supper, I'll be
standin' close by the door, and slip
out before he discovers that the man
wid his head on the table is only a
dummy man. Once outside that door,

TEE KERRY GOW

it'll be aisy, for you must have Dinny
waitin' for me wid a boat, at the foot
of the prison wall. It's ouly a big
dive, and I'm free! Dinny will pick
iiie up in the boat — hist, there comes
the guard!"

"I'm sorry to hurry you, Miss
Nora," said the Captain, looking at
the couple with pitying eyes, "but the
time's up. She can come again, you
know, Dan."

"Now, dont cry, darlin'," coaxed

work later, now that Dan's in prison,
and, what wid the spies a-watchin'
him ivery minute, it's hard to get
done at all, at all. And how are ye
feelin' about Dan by this time?
Maybe now ye wont pout at me if I
scold ye for teasing Dan — didn't I
tell ye that ye shouldn't be plaguin' a
man till after ye got him, and now ye
may niver get him at all!"

"Oh, Alice," Nora begged, tear-
fully, "dont talk like that— if Dan

TllEY FIND ONLY A DUMMY IN DAN S PLACE

Dan; "we'll just live in hopes that
the truth will coirie out."

So Nora, hushing her feai's at the
hazard that Dan was about to run,
went away with a lighter heart than
she had brought. Thei'e had been no
time to perfect the plan for escape,
but her quick wit had caught the
idea, and slie knew that Denn.y Doyle
would not fail in his part. Straight
to Denny's home she went, bursting
eagerly into the little cottage, and
asking anxiously for Denny.

"Sure, he's not home from the
forge yet," said his wife; "he has to

should go to the gallows my heart will
break! But. you know" — she came
nearer, looking around fearfully as
she whispered — "you know what's
going to be done tonight, dont vou?"

"Do I know ? Faith ! the man that
can keep a woman from findin' out
what she wants to know is more than
mortal! Why, Dinny couldn't be
readin ' the pin message at all, whin he
got it! He brought it home to me,
and I soon studied it out for him."

"Well, Dan wants Denny to be
waitin' tonight, when he dives off the
wall of the prison. Oh, Alice, it scares

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

me so to think of it ! Dont you think
it 's an awful dangerous thing for Dan
to do?"

"Less danger than stayin' where he
is, waitin' for them to come and hang
him," said Alice, grimly. "Niver
fear, child; Dinny and me will pick
hiin up and hide him as safe as a bug
in a rug. ' '

"Oh, are you goin' with Denny?
Then I can go, too, cant I ? "

"Not a bit of it;

y you've to stay close

^■B ^^ at home, until I

^HL^H. come to see ye.

noon, and Nora's face was white and
drawn with the long strain of waiting,
when she saw Alice running across the
field that separated their homes.

"It's all right, Nora, dear, it's
all right," she called, breathlessly.
"Dan's a free man, and nobody can
touch him now, glory be!"

' ' Hush ! ' ' cautioned Nora.

"There's no need to hush, my dear.
Wait till I tell ye. Dan got away,
just as he planned.
Oh, but ye ought
to have seen h i m
fling himself ofl: that

THE CO.VKKSSIO.N

some time tomorrow morning. Yes ; I
know it will be hard to wait for news,
but listen to me, me dear. His escape
will l)e known within three minutes of
the time he leaves his cell — the first
place the}' '11 watch is your house.
You must be there, actin' as innocent
as a lamb — dont ye see?"

Noi-a saw, and, tho the night seemed
interminable, she stayed quietly at
home, praying fervently while the
long hours dragged by. With the
early dawn, she began to watch for
Alice's coming, but it was mid-fore-

wall — it seemed an hour to me before
lie struck the water and we had him
safe in the boat. We got hiin away,
tho they was a-firin' after us before
we'd gone far, but they might better
have saved their bullets. For, listen
to this! The man who hid the pikes
in the forge wint and confessed, last
night. If Dan had waited half an
hour longer, he could have walked out
the door, a free man, instead of
jumpin' ofl' the wall into the sea — but
sure. Dan always loved a bit of excite-
ment!"

THE KERRY GOW

"But who hid the pikes? What
object did he have ? ' '

"His name is Kiei-nan; he's a
worthless fellow, but when he found
his act was goin' to cost Dan O'Hara
his life, his conscience would give him
no rest, and he owned up. But what
his motive was, no one can get out of
him ; he wont say what made him do

"The mortgage money is due this
afternoon," she sighed, "and there's
no money to pay it. Hay will take the
place, and I dont know what we shall
do."

"Niver ye fear; you've your
brother and Dan both to work for
ye," consoled Alice. "Ye ain't goin'
to starve for a long time yit ! ' '

DAN SENDS A MESSAGE TO NORA AFTER THE FIRST HEAT

it. But — now dont breathe a word of
this — your brother and the Major and
my Dinny have had their heads to-
gither, and they think Hay was at the
bottom of it. They say he wanted to
get rid of Dan, so he could have ye
for himself. So just ye keep quiet and
watch, and something will be comin'
to light yit!"

But the mention of Hay had
started Nora's thoughts in a new
direction, and she sighed dismally.

"But the dear old home — I love it
so," sighed Nora.

In spite of her great thankfulness
for Dan's escape, she was very un-
happy, as she thought of her father's
distress at losing his home.

"Where's Dan?" she asked, sud-
denly.

"Down to his shop, hammerin'
horseshoes as if nothin' had ever
happened."

"I'm goin' to run down to see

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

him," she declared. "I'll feel better
when I see liim, with my own eyes.
You go in tlie liouse, Alice, and try to
cheer father up — I'll soon be back."
• When she reached the shop, Dan
was pounding away busily, shoeing a
splendid coal-black horse, but he
stopped instantly, to take Nora into
his strong arms.

"It's good for sore eyes ye are,
darlin'," he vowed, "but, sure, ye

"It's everything to ye; Raymond
has entered liis horse, unbeknownst to
your father — and right he is; it's for
the old man's own good, and he'll see
it wliin the money is won to save the
place."

"But maybe Raymond wont win."

"You bet he will win, and Dan

O'llara's the man that's goin' to see

that he does. Listen, Nora" — he bent

close to her, whispering — "do ye

THE C.lRRIER-l'IGEON ARRIVES WITU THE FIRST MESSAGE

dont look as happy as ye ought to, wid
me .iust escaped from the hangman!"

"Oh, Dan, I am happy and thank-
ful — but poor father feels. so bad, and
the old home has got to go— it seems
wicked to be happy when father feels
so terrible. You know the mortgage
is due this afternoon."

"Cheer up, sweetheart; somethin'
else is due this afternoon, too."

"What do you mean?"

' ' Sure, the races come off this after-
noon. ' '

"But what's that to us?"

mind this horse I'm shoein'? Aint he
a beauty? He ought to be — he's the
famous Stai'light, the horse that's
never been beaten — and that villain
of a Hay has brought him here to race
against Raymond this day, and spoil
our hopes of winnin' the purse. But
that hoi-se will never win — it's Dan
O'llara that's a-shoein' him now, and
all's fair in love and war — that horse
wont be in shape to win a race!"

Nora pulled away from Dan's arms,
suddenly, and looked straight into his
eyes.

THE KERRY GOW

"You cant do that, Dan." she said,
sharply. ' ' That 's not fair! ' '

"Fair, is it? Does he play fair?
Have I got a reason to be fair to him?
Listen, child; I didn't mean to tell ye
yet, but ye can keep a secret. Ray-
mond and the rest of them have found
out that it was Hay that made all my
trouble — he hired the fellow to hide
the pikes in my forge, so I'd be out of

belonged to my best friend. Hay
doesn't suspect that I know what
horse this is, or he'd niver have sent
him here, but he needn 't worry — Dan
O'Hara will play fair."

"And we'll win, just the same,"
declared Nora ; "just see if we dont —
but, oh, Dan, how can I ever wait till
the race is over, for the news ? You '11
all be there, watchin ', but I must stay

PATRICK ARRIVES IN TIME TO PAY OFF THE MORTGAGE

bis way. Have I got a right to get
even? Hay '11 be arrested for con-
spiracy as soon as ever the race is
over."

The girl's eyes never wavered as
they held her sweetheart's steadily.

"He's a false man, but you're a
true one, Dan. We cant win the race
at the price of your honor."

For a moment Dan hesitated ; then
he bent and kist Nora's hand.

"Right ye are, me darlin'," he
said. "Sometimes a man sees ci'ooked,
and it takes a woman to set him
straight. I'll shoe the horse as if it

home with father, eatin' my heart out
with suspense."

"No; I've been thinkin' of that,
and I've a fine way figured out, to
keep you posted. You know your
little carrier-pigeons? I'm goin' to
take thi-ee of them wid me, in a basket,
and after each heat I'll let one of
them loose, with a note tied to its
neck. 'Twill fly straight to ye — and
you'll have the news. Now run along,
me darlin', and let me finish this work.
And pray God that the race may be
ours — sure He ought to give ye that
reward, when your sweet, honest soul

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

kept me from a mean, dishonest way
of winnin' the prize, and He will.
Tonight, at sundown, we'll all be
standin' together by the old home,
and your father will be thankin' us
for disobeyin' him."

And Dan's prophecy came true.
The setting sun that night touched a
happy group on the green lawn of the
Drew homestead.

"I cant hardly believe it, yet,"
Patrick Drew was saying, his eyes
dwelling fondly on his children.
"First, when Nora told me the horse
was runnin', in spite of my orders, I
was mad — then I begun to think what
it would mean ! Then, when the little

white pigeons begun comin' with their
messages, I forgot everything else,
and just hung on their wings like an
old gambler! Sure, my old grand-
father was a sportin' man — there
must be some of it in me, after all!
But the farm is saved; Hay's in jail
for his conspiracy against Dan — it
cant be that races are so wicked, after
all!"

"Arrah, me old mither used to say,
there's a time for ivry thing, " laughed
Dan. " I 'm thinkin ' this was the time
for us to take up horse-racin'. And,
thanks to Nora, dear, it was an honest,
clane race. Sure 's there's a woman at
the bottom of ivry good thing ! " .

Laura's Birthday Party

By KATHERINE MAXWELL RICHARDSON

Invitations had been issued to the party,

But mother suddenly was taken ill ;
There was to be no noise, the doctor ordered,

And Laura's little world seemed cold and chill.
Mother saw the saddened childish face.

And wondered how she could dispel the gloom ;
When suddenly a bright idea came to her,

So she called her little daughter to her room.

She told her when her little friends assembled,

Instead of fun at home, they all could go,
In company with sisters Grace and Jessie,

To a most delightful Moving Picture Show.
Laura brightened up, and soon the fairies

Were dancing in her mischievous blue eyes ;
She declared it was much better than a party,

And would be just lilie a regular surprise.

And so it proved to be — no gayer party

Ever passed within a picture theater's doors ;
How they laughed and thrilled in turn at each new picture,

And witli all their might they joined in the applause.
And when the show was over, they were taken,

As a finish to the treat, to get ice-cream ;
Between the mouthfuls they kept up a constant chatter

About the pictures they had seen upon the screen.

They voted it a grand theater party.

And that night, before Laura went to bed.
She stole quietly into her mother's bedroom.

And, kissing her good-night, she softly said:
"Mother, dear, I'm sorry you were ill,

And I hope you are not feeling very bad.
But I'm glad I couldn't have a regular party.

For this was the best birthday I ever had."

"TY/inkie" Dan had his own pri-

YY vate opinion of that story liis
Unele Jolin was forever tell-
ing him about, "The Ladv of the
Hills."

Only once had Winkie Dan ex-
pressed his unbiased thought about
the tale, and then "Junker" — which
was the way he had always got " Unelc
John" twisted around his tongue
from the first day lie began to speak
and to notice tilings — Junker botli
laughed and crird almost at what he
had said. Winkie Dan would rather
a good sight be locked up in a dark
room with "white things" and go
without jam for nine million days,
than cause Junker's face to grow one
mite sadder than it was already.

But that time when he, Winkie Dan,
had hurt Junker by what he had said,
was ever present in his mind. Jxmker
had stai'ted in, as usual, to tell some-
thing about her, when Winkie Dan
had merely remarked :

"But, Junker, I'd a good deal
rather hear about Injuns, or robbers,
or "

Then Wiukie Dan saw that he had

done something to Junker's feelings;
he stopped abi'uptly, with a hard
lump, like a glass alley, in his throat.

"In other words — she's got to be a
'chestnut,' eh? I dont wonder,
Winkie Dan; I've told you something
about her nearly evei-y night since my
dear sister died, and left you to me.
I'll not bother my little side-partner
any more. I'll keep it inside, if it
burns a hole clean thru inc."

Winkie Dan was on the point of
saying something about ottering assist-
ance with the little fire-engine Junker
had given him for his sixth birthday,
but something told him that the re-
mark was inappi'opriate. "You c'n
tell me about her, if you want.
Junker," he had said, shamefacedly.

But Junker had only smiled and
looked down and kist Winkie Dan,
with his eyes awful shiny-like.

Then it was that Winkie Dan began
to go about really and truly thinking,
with an expression on his fair little
brow just exactly the same as Junker
always wrinkled on his when he took
him to the big 'city restaurant and
studied the bill-of-fare.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Then it came over "Winkie Dan, for
the first time, that Junker had always
gone around with an awful unhappy
look that got into that part of little
boys' insides where the sighs come
from. He had felt the same way, he
remembered, when his hound pup had
died and he had thought of the way
she used to come and lick his hand. It
was a lump on, or a hole in, one's
feelings — which, he was not yet pre-
pared to swear to. But there was
something wrong with Junker's feel-
ings, and it wasn 't any wobbly hound
pup, either.

Then, sudden-
ly, it flashed
across W i n k i e
Dan's mind that
possibly — "Now
dont go an' tell
anybody what I
say — yet, " he
told his only con-
fidant, Teddy
Bear— that The
Lady of the Hills
had something to
do with it — nuiy-
be.

"I'd shoot her
w i t h a bow 'n-
arrer, if she done
anything to
him!" he vouch-
safed many times
during the day.

He waited, im-
patiently, until
Junker should
come home from his day in the city.

He found it a most delicate subject
to broach, when he bad snuggled up
in Junker's lap before the open fire
that evening.

"Well, what can I do for my little
side-pai'tner tonight?" asked Junker,
on observing his anxious, inquiring
gaze.

"I want you to tell me all over
again about" — ^Winkie Dan shifted
uneasily ; so did Junker, but he kept
silent — "about The Lady of the
Hills!"

Junker made no immediate reply,
but just hugged Winkie Dan tight.

THE POPULAR SINGER

"You're a brick, "Winkie Dan,"
said Junker, at length, tho the latter
couldn't see the point of his remark.
"Nothing will make me happier than
to talk about — her. It's all a fairy
story, you know. ' '

Winkie Dan didn't quite agree, but
he had special reasons for wanting to
hear it all again. ' ' Tell me it all over
again."

Junker cleared away all that thick,
funny sound that had come in hisvoice,
and then, looking deep into the smoky
shadows of the fireplace, he began :

"Once upon a
time, tiiere was a
most beautiful
and sweet girl. A
Beggar of a fel-
low fell in love
with this beauti-
f u 1 girl, and
asked her to
marry him. She
said ' Yes, ' and
the Beggar was
very happy.
Then there came
along a handsome
chap who made
love to the sweet
gii'l, and, finally,
won her heart.
Now this chap
was r e a 1 1 }' a
Prince in dis-
guise, and his
name was Mu-
sic." Junker
paused, and
seemed lost in voiceless thought.

When Winkie Dan could stand it no
longer, he asked: "But, then, you
went around and got the girl, didn't
you?"

" Me ? " said Junker, a little sharply,
looking at Winkie Dan in a half
scared way. "You mean the Beg-
gar chap ! Oh, yes, he went around
to the girl's little home, but he found
the sweet girl sitting at the piano, in
company — heart and soul — with that
chap, Music. Then she told the Beg-
gar fellow that she had changed her
mind, and had decided to go off to
another land, for she had found

'TWIXT LOVE AND AMBITION

that she loved the other fellow
better."

"Junker," burst forth "Winkie
Dan, wrathfully, "I dont like her
a-tall!"

Junker laid his hand gently on the
boy's shoulder. "But you would, if
you knew her." He always said this,
and Winkie Dan had his doubts.
"Well, she went off to another land to

Let's call her Marie. "Well, Marie's
husband soon began to make her very
popular in their new land. She won
the admiration of kings and queens
thru her Prince Charming, Music.
Gifts, honors and wealth were show-
ered upon her."

"And what became of — of "

"Oh, he just went his quiet way.
He, too, had found a treasure to

THE DYING MOTHER GIVES HER BOY INTO HER BROTHER'S KEEPING

study. She said she still loved the
Beggar — but ' '

"She didn't," snapped "Winkie
Dan.

"I'm afraid you're right, side-
partner. Anyway, the poor IBeggar
fellow loved her with all his heart. He
left the big city, and went to the
country. But he couldn't get away
from "

"What was her name?" demanded
Winkie Dan.

"Oh-h, it makes little difference.

love." Junker's arm tightened about
Winkie Dan. "And together he and
his little treasure lived in their quiet
valley. On the distant hills lived
Marie— The Lady of the Hills !"

"Where is she now?" persisted
Winkie Dan.

"There is no note — or future to
fairy stories, little side-partner," said
Junker, in a way that reminded
Winkie Dan painfully of his hound
pup licking his hand again.

"Is she still away in that place?"

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORT MAGAZINE

"Bless you, no. She is somewhere
in the big city."

"The Beggar man's big city?"

"No doubt," Junker said, uncom-
fortably, and then abruptly : " I think
little side-partner better be running
up to bed. Good-night, Winkie Dan."

"Good-night, Junker. Thanks."

Winkie Dan fully decided, as he lay
for more than an hour tliat night
thinking it over, to shoot Marie witli
his bow'n-arrer —
if he ever found
her.

He told this to
both Teddy and
Miggie the next
day. Miggie was
Winkie Dan 's
nurse. She was a
good nurse,
Winkie Dan
thought, because
she took cold tea
from a bottle,
and let him go
'most anywhere
while she slept.
He could trust
her with every
word he said, too.
Miggie used to
take Winkie Dan
down to the little
park near the
river, and spend
the larger part of
every clear day
thei-e.

It was about
the middle of the
s u m m e r that

Winkie Dan was asked his name
by a very beautiful lady dressed
all in white. The lady smelled just
too beautiful for words, and, besides,
she had about the funniest-looking
thing around her wrist that Winkie
Dan had ever seen. Miggie had told
him to come and wake her at once if
any stranger ever spoke to him, and
he would probably have done it, had
it not been that the beautiful lady in
white, seeing his interest in the
curious wrist-bag, took it off, and
placed it in his hand.

THE FAIRY STORY

"Winkie Dan," he said, suddenly
remembering the question that he had
been asked.

"What an odd name!"
There was something about the
voice of the lady that reminded him
of some musical instrument he had
once heard.

"May I sit down here on the bank
and talk with you, Winkie Dan?" she
asked gravely, bending over him.

"I'll see if
Miggie 's awake
first," said he,
prudently. Win-
kie Dan could
never remember
having had a
stronger wish for
anything than to
open that funnj'
bag, fast to the
lady's wrist.
J\I i g g i e was
asleep.

"Gee, but this
is a funny bag,"
chuckled Winkie
Dan, a few min-
utes later. "It's
nearly worth as
much as my stone
blocks that
Junker gave
me."

"This was given
me by a real live
foreign queen, ' '
countered the
lady, smiling.

Winkie Dan
suddenly remem-
bered something that presents from a
queen suggested. Unfortunately, he
had left his bow'n-arrers home this
day of all days. He drew away, and
fairly bristled as he asked :

"Are you The Lady of the Hills —
an' I aiiit foolin', either?"

The beautiful lady looked quite
astounded for a moment, and then she
replied, very softly: "I dont think I
am, altho I live on a hill — that's my
house yondei'." She pointed to a
splendid place across the river.
Winkie Dan breathed a sigh of re-

'TWIXT LOVE AND AMBITION

lief. He didn't want her to be the
hated Ladj' of the Hills ; she was too
nice.

"I'm glad you're not her," he said,
emphatical ly. ' ' She 's in a fairy story
with Junker. She ran away from
Junker witii a feller named Music,
and when I eatch her, I'm goin' to
shoot her with my bow 'n-arrer. "

"Winkie Dan paid no attention to
the funny way the woman acted, be-
cause he i)elieved all women were kind
of funny, anyway. He might have
told her more
about the story,
for there w a s
something about
her soft and sweet
that he seemed
to have always
been looking for,
and just found.
He never liked to
have Miggie hug
him, but he sort
of wished that
this beautiful
lady would. But
everything was
spoiled by Miggie
suddenly waking
up.

' ' Miggie, and
Junker, too, said
I nnistn 't speak
to strangers," he
said, regretfully,
a she abruptly
left her.

There was
something in the

look she gave him that made him turn
several times, thinking slie had called
him. A few minutes latei' she walked
away to a large automobile that was
waiting in the roadway.

It must have been two weeks later
that Winkie Dan saw the beautiful
lady in the park by the river again.
Without even looking to see if Miggie
was asleep, he ran straight up to her,
with less dignity than he ever re-
membered having shown.

' ' Have you been looking for me ? ' '
he asked, boldly.

"Yes," she confessed.

WINKIE D.\N WANTS TO GO ROWING

"I have been looking for you,"
said Winkie Dan, and she took his
hand, and they walked to a cool,
shady spot on the river's bank.

"Tell me the story of The Lady of
the Hills — whom you are going to
shoot with your bow 'n-arrer. Did
you bring it with you today, my little
Cupid?"

' ' No, but I can run home and get it
while Miggie is asleep," he said, half
rising.

She detained him with a hand he
wished she would
keep there a long,
long time, it was
so sweet to feel.
Even Junker's
hand was heavier
than that.

Then he sat
down, and she
held him gently
near her, while
he told her the
w hole story of
The Lady of the
Hills, ile tried
to put all the
gruffness in that
Junker did, and
added a little
for himself. He
felt a queer little
movement of her
body by his side
w h en he ha d
finished, and
looked up. The
beautiful lady
was crying to
herself in her handkerchief !

"I didn't mean to be so rough when
I told it. Honest I didn't," said
AVinkie Dan, taking the beautiful
lady's hand, and caressing it, while a
sympathetic distress clutched at his
own heartstrings in a way that made
him hold on tight to keep from crying,
too.

"And you dont feel a bit sorrv for
The Lady of the Hills?" asked the
beautiful lady, at length.

' ' I only feel sorry for Junker. Will
you cross .your heart, if I tell you
something ? ' '

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

JUNKER HEARS OF DAN S
DISAPPEARANCE

"Cross my heart," swore the beau-
tiful lady, solemnly.

"Well, Junker is the Beggar of that
fairy story ; he cant fool me." Winkie
Dan tossed his head the way he had
seen Miggie do it. ' ' An ' he thinks — "

"AVinkie! Winkie!" a shrill voice
was calling.

"She'll tell Junker that I was
naughty, if I dont go right away,"
lamented AVinkie Dan, as he ran
away.

The sun was creeping low in the
western hills before the beautiful lady
rose, half wearily, and walked slowly
back to her waiting ear.

Miggie took a different route after
that, passing under the bridge and
down to the stretch of wharf by the
very river's edge. Winkie Dan knew
that Junker had expressly forbidden
her to go there, but he had lots of fun
playing among the bobbing rowboats.
so he said nothing. He always was
on the lookout for the beautiful lady,
and would have stolen back up the
bank if he had seen her in the park.

Above all things, Winkie Dan

wanted to confide his adventure of the
beautiful lady to his side-partner.
Junker. For hadn't Junker confided
in him? Winkie Dan would have
given his whole boxful of mechanical
toys, and been content to let Santa
Claus skip him altogether next Christ-
mas, if Junker and the beautifvil lad.y
could onl,y meet. Junker was so kind
and good and lonely. And the beauti-
ful lady was so sweet and beautiful ;
and that was what would make you
laugh — she was so lonely, too.

Winkie Dan didn't know just how
to tell it, but he was of the opinion
that the beautiful lady might take the
place of The Lad.y of the Hills,
and so settle this whole matter that
made Junker unhappy and Winkie
Dan miserable.

Then, suddenly, it occurred to
Winkie Dan how he might broach the
great compromise — he would tell
Junker his fairy story !

For five days he made up and made
up, but each time gave up in despair.
Finally, he decided to tell Junker
what he had made up.

Junker was scowling over the even-

WINKIE DAN S HAT TELLS THE
STORY

'TWIXT LOVE AND AMBITION

THE LADY OP THE HILL S POPULARITY INCllEASES

ing paper the way you scowl at the
cat when she has knocked down a
fine house of blocks you have just
built.

"Four weeks' triumphal tour!"
sniffed Junker, over the article he was
reading. "The whole country at her
feet! Oh, did you speak, side-part-

ner?" he asked, looking over the top
of the paper at Winkie Dan.

' ' I was going to tell you a — a fairy
story," said Winkie Dan, half fear-
fully.

"I'll be a bad audience tonight,
little Winkie Dan. Let's wait until
tomorrow night, and I'll promise you

THE MOTION PICTURE STORT MAGAZINE

everything. I'm all upset, little
shaver. I'm going out for a walk.
Good-night!"

Winkie Dan was alarmed. He
glanced at the news-sheet belliger-
ently. He sprang towards it with a
cry. There was a large picture printed
that looked ever so much like his
beautiful lady. He went up to bed
with the beginnings of a great plan
forming in his puzzled brain. He was
desperate.

It was about noon the next day that

before his dobr. A pale-faced servant
handed him a note the clvatiffenr had
brought. He read it:

You have probably heard terrible re-
ports about precious Winkie Da-i. He
has been rescued from the river. He is
practically well and safe with his friend.
Take the car and come at once.

"My God!" was all that passed
Junker's trembling lips.

It was a drive of about four miles
across the nearest bridge. The chauf-

AND THEN WINKIE DAN, HAPPY, WENT PAST ASLEEP

one of the rivermen woke the rum-
soaked Miggie to tell her that the last
he had seen of her kid he was playing
in one of the boats. Now, the boat and
the kid were both missing. He was
nowhere to be seen on the surface of
the water. The tide was fast going
out ; a squally wind had sprung up. A
bend in the river hid the worst part
of it from sight. Junker, or John
Sterne, her charge's uncle, was due
home on a train that ari'ived in less
than an hour !

Miggie fled to parts unknown.

When John Sterne arrived home,
he found a big touring-car drawn up

feur made it in something like seven
minutes. A hush hung over the great
country-house as he was admitted by a
butler.

"This way, sir."

With dread, Junker followed him
up the broad stairs. The butler
paused befoi-e the door of a room,
softly opened it, and respectfully
stood one side, closing it again when
Junker had entered. He was about to
rush up to the great bed, when he
saw, in the subdued light, the form of
a woman bending over it. with her
arms around his little side-partner,
Winkie Dan.

'TWIXT LOVE AND AMBITION

There was something about it all
that made him tremble like a flame in
the wind. Then the child saw him,
and gave a cry of delight.

"Oh, it's Junker! It's Junker!"

The woman sprang up with a
little shudder, and turned, and faced
him.

In that moment, the boy was for-
gotten. Neither moved until his little
.voice piped up: "Junker, this is the
beautiful lady of my fairy tale. I

wanted you to take her instead of that
old Lady of the Hills!"

Then it was that she moved for-
ward, and gently took his hands in
hers.

' ' I have come back, ' ' she whispered.
"Seven lonely years have I spent in
fairyland."

"Marie!" was all he said, folding
her tightly to his hungry breast.

Winkie Dan, the author of the
pretty tale, had gone fast asleep.

The Picture Show

By SYDNEY RUSSELL
(Age 14 years)

Oh, what is the thing whose praises all sing?

Where. every one can go ;
What is it brings joy to every girl and boy?

Why, tlie picture show !
That's where I have learnt all my geography ;
That's where all my favorite players I see.
Oh, there's no other place where I'd rather be,

Thau the picture show.

What is it brings joy to every girl and boy?

A place we all well know ;
Where you'll have a good time for a nickel or dime,

Why. the picture show !
What is it whose memories none can erase?
Which, sooner than you think, will be the one place
Which will be patronized by the whole human race.

Yes, the picture show.

HAD not a blanket of fog hung over
the island of Niihavi, these
events would never have hap-
pened. If the ship's carpenter had not
been fitting a new combing to a life-
boat, dropping his tools when the Per-
dita shoved her nose on the reef, after-
events would have probably come out
very diiferently. But if the Rev.
John Granger, a retiring missionaiy,
coming home from China, had not
been on board, there would be abso-
lutely no after-story to tell.

The trade-winds from the northeast
had cooled the steamer's decks all the
way across from Hongkong, but, as
she neared Hawaii, they suddenly
died down, and a hot, damp wind
came up from the southwest, smelling
of the equator.

Presently, close off Kaula, the fog
set in, and the air became thick and
breathless; the Pcrdita slowed down
to half speed, and nosed along
blindly, grunting her whistle like a
pig in a sack.

Second Officer Edward Willard
was shaving his chin by the light
of a bracket-lamp when the Perdita
struck — it was as if something big

had risen out of the Pacific and
slapped the steamer a resounding
buffet, the way she quivered and
groaned — and, almost at the same
time, pandemonium broke loose.

Willard had barely run to his sta-
tion, in the stern, when the mob from
the stoke-hole burst on deck, and,
cursing and howling, started to rush
the boats.

It was a man's work, then, holding
them back, with a cracked skull or
two, until the passengers were lowered
over the rail. As each boat "was filled,
it rowed off southward, for a few
strokes, then was swallowed in the
fog.

The sea had risen to the Perdita' s
counter when Willard, with the five
remaining members of her crew,
prepared to lower her last boat — a
little one off the second cabin smoking-
room. They were tumbling in — not
the pick of the crew, the officer noticed
— when a girl appeared on deck, lead-
ing an old man in the black clothes of
a clergyman. He was very feeble,
and controlled his feet with the
utmost difficulty.

Willard sprang to their side — a

LINKED BY FATE

fathom below, the boat's crew were
muttering at his delay — and lifted the
invalid over the rail.

"Below there!" he ordered; "lend
a hand," and the clergyman was
eased into the boat. The girl nimbly
followed, then Willard, and soon they
were putting off, steering west, with a
last backward look at the sinking
Perdita.

They had been out in the fog some

disclosed an ugly head of high rock
within a ship's length of them.

Willard skirted its base, and steered
for the lower lying coast beyond.

"With the fog still lifting, and'the
Sim coming thru against the foliage
of hills back of the coast, the crew put
the lagging boat thru the water at a
smart pace, and soon had opened up
a bit of coral beach.

Here they beached her, and every

FLORA RECO^^:RS FROM HER FRIGHT AND FATIGUE

three hours, with four men at the oars,
and the old man shivering, even in his
heavy coat, when Willard distinctly
heard the slap of the surf against
rocks.

He leaned forward, as if trying to
cut thru the gray wall of the sea. "A
little to starboard — steady there !"

Tlie boat kept on — an interminable
time — until the sounds became plain
to all.

"I'm thinking, sir," said one of the
men, " it 's Niihau. ' '

As he spoke, the fog lifted, and

one got out and stretched, as if at the
end of a nightmare journey.

While the girl set her companion
upon the beach, where he sat humped
up and disconsolate, Willard ordered
their little store of provisions brought
ashore, and made a careful inventory
of them. For, he thought, in his
methodical way, this might be the
coast of Niihau, inhospitable at best,
or, again, it might not be.

The crew, one of them carrying a
wicker demijohn, started on a tum-
bling walk down the beach.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Here, j'ou!" sang out Willard.
"What have you got there?"

The man with the demijohn stopped,
and faced about his ugly, blue mug.
"Willard beckoned for him to return,
and, on his obeying, ordered him to
leave his burden on the beach. The
man reluctantly obe.yed — it was evi-
dently rum filched from the ship's
stores, in the scramble for the boats
— and turned back to join his com-
panions.

Willard glanced at the demijohn.

said in a low voice, glancing toward
the old man.

"Danger? None," he assured her,
smiling, "save what we may make for
ourselves. To tell you the truth," he
added, lowering his voice, "I dont
half like the looks of the men in the
boat's crew that we brought with us."

"But they are under your com-
mand." She said this as if he were
a species of monarch.

"True," he answered, "but Jack
ashore is diiferent from Jack on ship-

WILLARD OKDEUS THE CREW TO STOP DRINKING

and was tempted to smash it, then
and there, and have done with it. But
it Avas a valuable store, in case of
sudden sickness, and he added it to
his other supplies.

All this time the girl, sitting on
the beach, had been eyeing him
boldly, and he suddenly thought of
her.

"I dont know where we are, miss,"
he said, lifting his cap. "and wont
know until the men come back. At a
guess, I should say we were on the
almost uninhabited island of Niihau. ' '

"Then there is no danger?" she

board — especially after a wreck the
worst part of him seems to crop oiit. ' '

"Have you noticed anything wrong
with them?" she asked,

"Only little things — but T know
the reputation of Hongkong dock-
rats and beach-combers, such as these.
It's a fist between the eyes first, and
after that love and respect,"

He turned away, to busy himself
with the stores; then, awkwardly,
approached lier again.

"Would your father care for a
little stimulant?" he asked, with an
eye on the demijohn.

LINKED BY FATE

"Oh, no, thanks," she spoke up
quickly; "Mr. Granger would never
think of taking any."

There were several tins of soup in
the stores, and Willard set about
prying off the covers, and in gathering
driftwood for a fire.

Presently the girl joined him.
"Cant I be of use?" she asked, and,
for the first time, Willard noticed
that she was good-looking, with a
round, even chin and wide-set, childish
eyes.

"Yes," he admitted; "if there's
anything more to cooking than mak-
ing a fire, I'll gladly take further
commands from you. ' '

The supper was well under way
when the boat's crew returned, and
Willard assigned them a place on the
beach, with one of them, the man with
the blue chin, to wait on the others.

They ate noisily and with relish,
with an eye ever on the demijohn.

After the meal, Willard questioned
them, at length, on the results of their
exploring trip, but not one of them
could say, definitely, whether it was
an island or not. In fact, they
admitted they had not left the beach.

Willard figured that he had at least
two hours before sunset to climb the
range of hills back of the beach, so,
ordering the men to explore the coast
to the north of the head, he set out
alone.

Like most sailors, he was a poor
climber up the rocky, lava-covered
slope, and it was almost dusk before
he reached the summit. What he saw
to the east was beautiful: a rare
tropic sun-bath of orange and red
streaking the purple sea, but it con-
vinced him that they were upon a
small island some distance from the
true coast of Niihau.

As he clambered down the slope,
now and then he caught a glimpse of
the roaring fire on the beach, and, as
he drew nearer, the wind blew the
sound of boisterous voices to him.
There was trouble of some kind ahead
for him.

Willard broke thru the fringe of
candle-nut trees, and started on a run
down the beach. The boat's crew had

ceased singing and shouting, and
were standing in a little group by the
fire. Quite near them, with the flames
playing shadows over her, stood the
girl passenger. Her half crouch sug-
gested the action of a big cat at bay.

The second officer drew his revolver,
and appeared suddenly out of the
night. The firelight showed up the
faces of the men plainly: that they
had been drinking hard was evident.

' ' Draw off, ' ' Willard ordered, ' ' and
build a fire for yourselves farther
down the beach. I '11 have no drunken
trouble-makers in this camp."

Seeing the shining thing in his
hand, they silently obeyed, and, a
half-hour later, a second fire started
into glowing life on the sands.

Willard lay on his back some few
yards from his charges, and stared up
into the vault of blackness above him.
At last, a kind of troubled sleep came
over him — a sleep in which visions of
sinking steamers, countless demijohns
floating on the sea, and a pair of
sparkling, wide-set eyes were mixed
in chaotic confusion.

He was dreaming that these eyes
were staring at him, like pools of
reproach, when a light hand upon his
shoulder caused him to sit up and to
look at these creatures of his dream.

"Mr. Willard," said the girl,
"something dreadful has happened
during the night. "

He sprang to his feet, looked about
him, and needed no further words.
The store of provisions was gone, the
boat was gone; no signs of life ap-
peared on the beach. Only an empty
demijohn rolled, lazily, in the shallow,
sparkling water. The boat's crew had
evidently taken a scant French leave
during the hours of his vivid dream.

"Well," said the officer, after a
few minutes of slack-jawed gazing,
"they're gone, kit and boodle. We
cant make any worse start than Adam
did, anyway." Then, suddenly re-
membering that the girl was very
much in the position of Eve, he
stopped, and blushed fiery red under
his sea tan.

"There's breakfast to be thought
of," he resumed, "and I'm going

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

back of the beach to knock down some
coeoanuts."

When he returned, with an armful
of the tough-shelled nuts, the girl had
rigged a sort of beach-chair for the
old clergyman, against which he
rested easily. Willard noticed one
other contrivance that made him
wonder at her ingenuity. It was a
silk signal flag, tied neatly to a long
pole, but, by its flounce, it would have
been recognized
as the offspring j^gT-
of a brown silk ~
petticoat by al-
most any one but
an unmarried
seafaring man.

After a break-
fast on the nuts,
w h i c h , w li e n
f r e s h plucked,
are as tender as
porridge, W i 1 1-
ard asked per-
mission 1 liglit
his pipe. He
might as well tell
them the worst,
he thought, and
be done with it:
that they were
a good twenty
miles from the
nearest inhal)ited
island, and o u t
of the regular
path of vessels.

They took the
news cooler than
he t h o u g h t —
t li e r e was no
fright, nor com-
plaint, from the

girl. It was only the old clergyman
who groaned and looked feebler than
usual, if possible.

Then the girl told him that her
name was Flora Cavendish, and that
her guardian, the Rev. Mr. Granger,
was taking her to San Francisco for
the iirst time in her life.

A week passed on the island, but
little of consequence happened, except
that "Willard dug up a patch of kalo
bushes, and instructed Flora how to

HOPING TO SIGNAL A PASSING
VESSEL

bruise and bake the roots into a flour
— the poi of all righteous Hawaiians.
Then, too, the clergyman grew feebler
day by day, just a natural petering
out, and watched their signalling
from the head, with an interest of
resignation.

■One day, as the sun turned their
little bay into molten silver, and the
coral sand around them sparkled with
the luster of pearls, he called them to
his side, and told
• them that he did
not expect to sur-
vive the night.
One thing lay on
his mind, almost
greater than the
contemplation of
his call to the be-
yond : it was that
he might have the
satisfaction of
uniting the m ,
then and there.

Such a thing
Edward Willard
had conjectured
in his dreams
only, and he
could see it came
as a sudden shock
to the gii'l. But
the old mission-
ary held them,
with his filming
eyes, and warned
t h e m that his
duty lay clear
and shining be-
fore him.

It is only in
penny novels that
marriage is pro-
posed so suddenly, especially on a
strip of uninhabited island in mid-
ocean, so it is natural that the prin-
cipals should have shown signs of
reluctance and embarrassment.

But the scarcely lingering old man
was insistent: a vision had come to
him that they two should spend the
remainder of their days on the island,
and he, who had had his Christian
will with so many stony-eyed Orien-
tals, succeeded in joining their hands,

LINKED BY FATE

if not their hearts, together ou the
sands in front of liim.

Having had his will, some time
later in the day he looked squarely
into the setting sun, told Flora to
pluck out his scanty purse, murmured
a blessing, and, folding his hands
tightly, passed away, quickly, in the
invisible boat that plies wherever a
soul beckons from the shore.

From then on, for several days,
w here harmonj^
and friendliness
had ruled before
in the little camp
of three, a species
of frigid formal-
ity hung over the
open-air home of
the two survivors.
As a matter of
fact, both these
normal young
people thought
the other had
been sacrificed to
the whim of the
late Mr. Grangor,
and, while Flora
took to long walks
on the beach and
among the rocks,
Edward d e v e 1-
oped strong do-
mestic tendencies,
and set to work
keeping a diary.
He soon tired of
this child's play,
however, and, one
day, throwing
down his note-
book, set out

upon a trip of exploration down the
beach.

AVhile this model of domesticity
was absent, Flora came back to the
little patch of velvety sand, misnamed
home, and spied his diary, thrown
carelessly upon the beach. She picked
it up, and, with pardonable curiosity,
ran thru its pages. It contained a
dry and unromantie record of the set
of the winds, tides, and a seaman's
carefulness for dates. The passage
that caused her to groan miserably,

THE DE.\TH OF MR. GRANGOR

however, and to cast the book l)aek
on the beach, ran something like
this: "Thursday, April 28th. Wind
N.N.E., back in the trades. Minister
is dying. He insists that I should
marry Plora, this little girl. If- 1 ever
see you again, Evelyn, remember that

I loved you "

At almost the same time that this
domestic tragedy was being acted,
Edward ran down the beach to some
rocks on the wa-
ter's edge with
a hoarse shout
of discovery. A
native boat, but
slightly damaged,
lay wedged in the
grip of two
b u 1 d e r s. He
looked it over,
almost tenderly,
with a lump ris-
ing in his throat,
and realized that,
with a little re-
pairing, it woiild
serve to escape
with, from the
island. What a
providential
thing, he thought,
feeling the little
boat's broken
ribs, that the
Perdita's carpen-
ter had left h i s
tools in the life-
boat, and that the
boat 's crew had
east them on the
beach. In a day
or two at most —
He broke into a mellow bass care-free
song.

Before the stars had paled the next
morning, he shook himself awake,
and was off down the beach, carrying
his tools. What a stupendous surprise
he had in store for his wife, when he
should eome, rowing the little boat up
to their front door, so to speak.
Visions of a smooth, swift passage to
Niihau, a two days' trip to Honolulu,
and then San Francisco, shot thru his
brain. It was glorious !

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

He stfipped himself down to his
shii't, and scst to work, fcverislily, on
tlie damaged boat, whieh, to him,
looked as fine as a Pacific liner, in the
rising sun.

It must have been about noon, with

nod, and soon he was sleeping as only
a man in tlie open can, soundly and
serenely.

Again came dreams, or were they
half reality ? For, he thought, a trim
young girl, with wide, hazel eyes.

EDWARD DREAMS OF FLORA AND THEIR HOME-GOING

the sun riding hot overhead and
blistering his naked feet on the beach,
that he knocked off from his work,
and ate a giant's portion of gummy
poi and coeoanut meat. Then, some-
thing in the monotonous sound of the
slap of the sea against the head, and
the cries of sea-birds, caused him to '

came softly to his side, and looked
long and brokenly at him. A sound
of bitter weeping mingled with the
slap of the sea, but he could not raise
an arm, to put it about her and to
check the sobs.

Presently he awoke, with a start,
rubbed the uneasy vision out of his

LINKED BY FATE

eyes, and set to work again. Had he
been less of a sailor, and of a more
observing nature, he might have taken
notice of the little footprints in the
sand by his side, which the rising tide
slowly obliterated.

As the sun was nnblusliingly pre-
paring its bed in the west, he pushed
the little boat into the sea, aind rowed,
with lusty, impatient strokes, toward
their camp in the sand-carpeted bay.

As he neared
the spot, Flora
was not in sight,
l)ut some of her
things strewn
around told h i m
that she w a s not
far away.

The first thing
he notice d was
her jacket, then
her saucy little
chip straw hat —
then her shoes.
Strange; was she
bathing at this
hour of the day 1

But s h e vv a s
nowhere in sight.
A panic seized
upon him, and he
ran up the beach,
calling her, fran-
tically, by name.
Only the waving
palms gave back
a mocking echo.

In the semi-
darkness, he ex-
plored the treach-
erous rocks of
the head. He

thought even of setting out to circle
the island, but the last blood-red
ray of the sun, vanishing suddenly
from the sea, warned him of its
futility.

For two days, and two nights, he
waited, sleepless and without food, on
the beach ; then he seemed to realize
that she had passed awa.v from him,
probal)ly into tlie .sea, and he put out,
rowing southeast, in a dazed, miser-
able sort of way. Two days afterward
he reached Niihau, without mishap,

VlJOiRX FINDS EDWARD ASLEEP

qnd from Honolulu took a steamer for
San Francisco.

It is hard to fathom why Flora did
such a desperate, foolhardy tiling as
to flee from the man that she reall.v
loved, but, as she leaned over his
sleeping body in the little boat on the
beach, she must have felt that,
with rescue near, she stood between
Willard and the girl he loved back in
the States. He
had done a heroic
thing in marry-
ing her, out of a
sense of honor,
and, suddenly,
she thought that
her sacrifice
should measure
up to his. She
determined, as by
inspiration, to
l)lace all her
i-lothing, but
\\ hat was abso-
lutely necessary,
on the beach — it
was a sure token
f her death b y
drowning — and
to flee deep in-
land into the
woods. He would
be free to work
out liis own des-
tiny, then.

For two nights
she came down to
the fringe of
palms, and
watched him sit-
ting, hunched up,
by the fire. Now and then, he de-
jectedb' put fresh wood on it, but, tho
the sobs swelled and strangled in her
breast, she stiick bravely to her
resolve, and did not warn him of her
presence.

A week later she saw an incoming,
native schooner off the head, and
promptly signalled it. The schooner's
people saw her, and sent a boat ashore.
By paying out half of her scanty
store of money, they agreed to take
her direct to Honolulu. She arrived

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

in time barely to miss the steamer on
which Willard had sailed. Two
weeks later, she booked a passage,
under an assumed name, for San
Francisco.

The years passed by — two of them
— in which Flora became a milliner's
assistant in a smart shop on ilarket
Street. Everybody liked the pretty
little girl, who dressed always in the
severe black of
mourning; it is
even r u m o r e d
that she sternly
rebuked the at-
tentions of a
purse-proud,
fond maiinna's
only darling son,
and that she
opened his eyes,
wide, upon the
first thing that
had ever been
refused him — but
that is a different
story.

She lived, fru-
gally, in a com-
pact, sunlit room,
with a canary,
and was in a fair
way of becoming
an old maid, or,
rather, a con-
tented grass-
witlow, if such a
thing is possil)le.

In the mean-
time, w h e n his
siiip was in, Ed-
ward Willard, a
Simon-pure wid-
ower, dwelt with

his sister, Miss Evelyn Willard, in a
snug little cottage, not three squares
away. There! my secret is out, and
Edward is not a villainous bigamist
at heart, but only a simple, home-
loving seafarer, without a wife to
bless him. It was said of him that he
was good-natured, very shy with girls,
and that, curiously, he never left his
cabin when his steamer passed the
islet, Kaula.

THE MEETING OF FLORA AND
EDWARD, AND THE RESULT

On his return from his last trip, he
had stopped at a milliner's, and
ordered a stunning hat sent home, as
a surprise for Evelyn. To show that
the Fates were unkind to him, he must
have missed Flora by inches, for she
had just stepped out.

But he never knew, and, back at

home, dozed the afternoon away in a

steamer chair. Tlie slap of the sea

against rocks, and wide, haunted eyes,

always came close

to him then.

He did not
hear the bell
ring, nor a girl
in black enter,
with a 1)0X as big
as a trunk.

E v e 1 y n met
her, finger on lip.
• ' Ss-sh ! " she
whispered ; ' ' d o
not wake up
brother."

Flora, for it
was slie, glanced
toward t ii e
sleeper in the
s t e a m e r chair.
Something about
liis liigness, and
the sprawl of his
legs, looked fa-
miliar, a n d her
eyes traveled up-
w a r d to the
1) r o n z e-bearded
face.

She gave a little
cry, reeled, and
dropped the hat-
box with a thud.
Edward slowly
opened his eyes —
and saw his sister, with her arms
supporting a trim figure in black.

A pair of flashing, hazel eyes — not
dream eyes this time — met his.

"Evelyn, sister," he called, ex-
citedly, "it is she — my wife!"

He fully expected to have Evelyn
say, with a hand on his shoulder:
"You are dreaming again, Edward."
but, instead, she led the girl in black
gently toward him.

The Regeneration of
Worthless Dan

(Nclor)

By COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER

BLACK Pabeb, horse-thief, lay for-
ward in his saddle, and grimly
swung his head to survey the
paths which led from the forks in the
trail. His eyes were glinty and near-
closed against the bite of the shrill
wind, his lips had formed themselves
into a straight line of aggressive
hatred. One arm hung useless.
Frozen blood was on his sleeve.

"No; I'm not going any farther!"
he burst out, at last. "Do what you
please, Sam — go on or come back. I
dont care — if you want to act yellow
about it! Hear me?"

There was an ejaculation from
behind. The implication of Black
Faber was not pleasing. But that
person did not seem to hear. His eyes
had suddenly opened, and he was
looking far down to the trail, to where
a traveling form showed on horseback.
His jaw shot forward. He grinned,
evilly.

' ' After the sheriff, eh ? " he growled.
"Well, when I get thru, there'll be
something to need a sheriff for ! Sam
Stern ! " he commanded, as he wheeled
his horse, and faced his companion,
"are you coming back or not? Are
you going to let a pard get winged,
and then not help him? Are you —
huh?"

Sam Stern, tall, angular, weak-
faced, vacillated.

"Who's that down the trail?" he
asked, in variance to the other's ques-
tion. Black Faber frowned.

"Allison's wife," was his crisp
answer. ' ' She 's going after the sheriff
to inform him that two very re-
spectable hoss-rustlers are needing
lynching, and that one of 'em's

winged, likewise her husband. That's
why I'm going back, Sam Stem!" he
muttered. "Allison winged me, and
I 'm going to finish him for it ! "

"Finish him — why, he's got it, too;
saw his left arm drop as you shot,
Blackie. What do you want to act
pizen like this for? Cant you "

"Coming — or going to show your
yellow streak?" Black Faber 's voice
was as cutting and cold as the wind
which swept up from the canyon. He
spurred his cayuse. He was gone.

An hour later, watching, in the
growing dusk, the form of Black
Faber, as that individual of crime and
hatred faded into the shadows, Sam
Stern crept forward toward the ranch-
house of Jim Allison. He had seen
the sneaking approach of his fellow
"rustler." He had heard the shot,
the cry, the f^ing thud of the body —
he had kno^^ that the revengeful
nature of Faher had been satisfied.
One glance thru the window, and he
discerned the lifeless form of Allison
on the floor. Another glance — and
Sam Stern turned pale.

"The pore little son-of-a-gun ! " he
broke forth, and hurried for the
door ; "the pore little son-of-a-gun ! "

For there had showed, beside the
form of the dead man on the floor,
the tiny figure of a creeping baby —
a baby which crooned and wondered,
and touched the still face of its father
with non-understanding hands; a
baby who might suffer and hunger
and cry in vain for food in the long
hours that would intervene before
Mrs. Allison, who had left after the
first skirmish between the ranchman
and the horse-rustlers, might return

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

with aid. Sam Stern felt that he
trembled a bit. He laughed to him-
self in an awkward way — and then
his face grew grim. In the gray of
dusk, the snow was beginning to fly ,
a bit. The air was growing colder —
the wind had more of a bite to it than
ever. It is not so brave to kill a babv

mured again, as he mounted and
swung his horse's head against the
growing blizzard. "We've got a
tough trip home, and Lord knows
what I '11 do with you when I get you
there, but I 'm going to make the try.
Your maw aint going to be here for a
long, longtime — not in this blow-up!"

THE DISCOVEKY OF ALLISON' S DEAD BODY

by suffering and hunger as it is to kill
a man with a bullet. Sam Stern hesi-
tated but a moment more; then,
swinging open the door of the ranch-
house, witli clumsy, trembling hands
he lifted the baby into his arms, and
Avrapped it well against the cold with-
out. Then he hurried for his horse.
' ' Pore little son-of-a-gun ! " he mur-

But the matter of what was to be
done with the child was settled for
Sam Stern by a greater power, when,
after hours of battling against sleet
and snow and whipping, shrieking
winds, he reached his lean-to, far above
the canyon. Cramped, with aeliing
limbs, and a head which throbbed
from the bitter cold, he thumped his

THE REGENERATION OF WORTHLESS DAN

way into the little one-rooined house,
lie laid tlie human bundle he had
striven to protect on the bunk; he
pulled aside the coverings — then his
face went white.

"Pore little son-of-a-gun !" he mur-
mured, with awlnvard sympathy;
"pore little kid!"

And far away down in the valley, a
woman, still weak
and fatigue-laden
from her wild trip
for aid, reeled as
the sheriff and
physician, who
bent over her hus-
band's body, told
of his fate — reeled
in the realization
that her husband
w as dead, and
that her baby was
gone, she knew
not where. Per-
liaps, could she
have seen a tin\
mound o f frozen
clods, which later
showed, far up in
the hills, slie
might have known
— but the mound
was miles away,
and S a m Stern,
weak-willed tho he
was, h a il gone,
with a vacillating
determination i n
his mind to leave
horse-rustling be-
hind, forever.
Determination
can last long some-
times. With Sam
Stern it lasted

nearly eighteen years. The old game
of horse-rustling, where bullets and
lynching parties went hand in hand,
had resolved itself into the more re-
spectable business of horse-trading.
Business was growing, too. There had
come the time when help was needed.
And it was at that moment that Sam
Stern, horse-thief of the past, had
met Worthless Dan.

"Kid. all that's the matter with

^M^S^^S^i

you," Sam had said, as he bought the
half-starved l)oy the food and drink
he had needed, and for which he had
begged, "is that you aint got balance.
You mean well enough, all right, but
you dont know how to handle your-
self. Suppose you come with me, and
let me make something wortli while
out of you. What do you say ?"

And Dan Ber-
tram, a wanderer
at eighteen, penni-
less, u n li a p p y ,
driftwood on the
sea of life, looked
up liappily.

• ' What do I
say?" lie asked,
'■'riianks — that's
what— tlianks!"

A n d t li u s it
was that Worth-
less Dan — they
knew him by tliat
name around the
liorse-yards — b e-
i-ame the protege
of Sam Stern.
'I'oirother they
wiiiidered from
city to city; to-
gctlier they visited
farm after farm,
a n d ranch after
ranch in search of
horses. Worthless
Dan's clothing
was lu'tler. There
was l)eginning to
be a better color
his cheeks —

STERN INDUCES DAN TO JOIN HIM

have
they

but there was
something the eyes
lacked.

"If I could just
a home." he said one day, as
approached a farmhouse, "a
place like that to live in, maybe things
'd be different. I aint bad, honest,
Mr. Stem. Things have just been
against me, that's all!"

Stern did not answer. He was
looking at the woman who stood on the
veranda of the house, and a queer
expression had come into his eyes.
Some way, his voice had taken on a

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

queer tone. He did not push his
trading as usual. He noticed that the
woman looked often at Dan, and that
her eyes seemed to carry something of
sj'mpathy in them. Quicklj' he turned
to the boy, as they left the place.

"What did that woman say to
you ? " he asked, shortly.
' ' Nothing much — ^\vhy ? ' '
' ' What was she talking about ? ' '
"Something about her baby," was
the answer. "It seemed she lost a
little boy about eighteen years ago,

told the story of the mountain fight
of j'ears before, of the attempt to save
the child's life, of its death thru
exposure, of the burial in the high
hills, and of the saving of the little
brooch as a memory. There was some-
thing of cunning in Sam Stern's face
as he told the story. It seemed that
the memory of other days was re-
awakening old desires within him.
There was the racing for money — and
money which came easier and quicker
than by horse-stealing. He reached

MRS. ALLISON SHOWS DAN A PICTURE OP HER LOST BABY

and that he'd been about my age if
he had lived, or hadn't been kid-
napped, or something of the kind. I
didn't pay much attention to it "

"I knew it!" Stern's voice had
broken in. "I thought I remembered
that name!"

Hastily he led the way to a cow-
stable, and pulled a glittering some-
thing from a pocket.

"See that brooch?" he answered.
' ' You 've been wanting a home. Here 's
your chance to get it. Now listen !"

And, as he passed the tiny brooch
before the eyes of Worthless Dan, he

forward, and grasped Dan by the
shoulder.

"Take this brooch," he ordered;
' ' tell your story. She '11 believe you —
she'll think you're her son, see?
You'll have a good home. All I'll ask
is that you'll help me out on a little
deal, see? That's all, just a little
deal. I'll come back in a month.
You'll have the lay of the land by that
time — you understand?"

Something had turned awry in the
mind of Sam Stern. The old feeling
of generosity and kindliness, which
had caused him to make the fight

TEE REGENERATION OF WORTHLESS DAN

against the blizzard for a baby's life,
seemed to have disappeared. Like a
Pagin Avith an Oliver Twist, he urged
Dan forward. The boy followed his
directions. Mrs. Allison, old, lonely,
her heart ei-ying out for the child who
had disappeared, opened her arras,
and received the wanderer as her own
flesh and blood.

And so, life for Dan Bertram
changed from that of a gypsy exist-
ence to a happy life — ^tlie like of
wliich he never had known before.

arms of Mrs. Allison were about the
form of the boy she believed to be her
son. "I just "

"And I thought I had forgotten
how to live," the woman answered.

Then came silence, while the boy
and the woman sat before the fire,
watching the dancing flames, the
glowing coals, the dropping ashes.
The big clock on the mantel boomed
out the hours. At last Mrs. Allison
arose, kist the brow of the boy beside
her, and left the room.

Here was home, here was happiness.
And more than that, here was the
something he had wished for all his
life, here was the lone something he
had longed for and craved — mother-
love! To Mrs. Allison, widow, Dan
Bertram was a son — a son who had
disappeared years ago, who had come
back, and who must be made to feel
all the happiness of stored-up love
and eherishment. Life was good in
that home — life was happy.

"I never knew what it was to live
before," Dan said, one night. They
were standing before the fire. The

' ' Good-night ! ' ' she said, softly.

' ' Good-night ! ' ' answered Dan. He
was staring ahead. His thoughts were
surging with the realization that this
life he was leading was not a truthful
one, that he was playing a game of
deception, and that, worst of all, he
was playing it against a woman.

Long he sat there — then started.
There had come the sound of a twist-
ing door-lock. Again it came — again.
Dan Bertram whirled, to come face to
face with Sam Stern. The house-
breaker held up a hand for silence.

"Quick!" he said, "is she asleep?"

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Dan Bertram recoiled a bit.

"I dont understand yon,"
answered. "What "

"You know what I want!" came
the voice of Sam Stern, and the tone
was gruflt". "You know what I put
you in here for. You've gotten the

what you put me here for, was it?
You didn't put me here to give me a
home, then — but just to act as a tool
for you ; to help you in a game of rob-
bery! Well, I wont help you, see?
Get out of here — out of here !"

His clutching fingers met the other

DAN PROVES MORE THAN A MATCH FOR STERN

combination of the safe by this time,
and I want it. It's time for you to
be moving on. We've got to have
money — see?"

For a moment they glared at each
other. Then, with an inarticulate cry
of anger, Dan Bertram leaped for-
ward, straight at the throat of the
other man.

"Thief!" he cried out. "That's

man's throat. Together, breast against
breast, glaring eyes stai-ing into glar-
ing eyes, they struggled about the
room, over chairs, bumping against
furniture, crashing against the walls.
Now and then Sam Stern cursed.
More often he strained the muscles of
his neck, that the tense fingers of Dan
Bertram might not choke him. Again
— again — again they struggled about

THE REGENERATION OP WORTHLESS DAN

5!)

the room. Then, a wild cry, one final
wrench of the form of Sam Stern, the
slamming of a door, and he was gone.
Dan Bertram, savior of what money
Mrs. Allison possessed, turned, and
looked into the face of the woman.

"Well," he said, and his voice was
slow and strange, ' ' I guess you under-

lielp him in a game of robbery if he
gave me the home here. But — well,
I guess 1 'predated the home too
much." He crossed the room. He
reached for his coat and hat. "If
you'll let me get what few little things
I have here, I'll come and get them
tomorrow, Mi's. Allison." His head

MRS. AIJjISON mourns THE LOSS OP IIER SON

stand now — you see what I was put
here for."

"Put here for?" queried Mrs. Alli-
son, still reeling from the excitement
of the events which had passed.
"Then "

' ' I am not your son. ' ' The voice of
Dan Bertram sank low. "I am no
relation to you. Stern had the brooch.
He thought I might be persuaded to

was bowed. ' ' I 've loved the home I 've
had here — I used to fool myself into
the belief that I really was your son,
and that I'd amoiint to something
some of these days. Biit I dont guess
that's possible. I've always been
Worthless Dan — I guess I always will
be. '

He turned the knob of the door. He
paused for just one more look about

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the place — at the books he loved, at
the fireplace, at the face of the woman
who had been so kind to him. And
there, there instead of the anger he
had expected to see, there instead of
the frown, there were tears and the
smile that means forgiveness. Her
arms were outstretched. She had

fought her battle, and had won it.
"You have made yourself a son to ■%■
me, Dan, " she said, simply. A broken -
sob broke from the boy's throat. A
moment more, and he was on his knees
before her.

' ' Mother ! " the boy sobbed, broken-
ly, ' ' mother ! God bless you ! ' '

The Passing Show

By HARVEY PEAKE

(As seen by the girl at the ticket window)

A shuffling man, with a careworn face.
And a child of most appealing grace,
A woman with gnarled and knotted hands,
And a swarthy couple from Eastern lands,
Seek an hour of joy in their dull, gray day.
Thru the magical lure of the Picture Play.

The blonde with the jeweled lavalliere
And a dancing gown, is Miss Vere de Vere ;
And the man in the faultless evening clothes
Is Stoxon Bonds, who, as every one knows.
Lures her from dinners and dances gay
To coo in her ear at the Picture Play.

Two grinning urchins are eagerly
Crowding ahead of a group of three,
Who came from the rural fields and lanes.
To be rewarded for time and pains
By journeys adown the primrose way,
Via the Motion Picture Play.

So day by day they come and go —
Never the same is the passing show.
Some are seeking to find respite
From a day of worry, or sleepless night;
Others ask pleasure alone when they stray
In to the Motion Picture play !

i«Tl

fT might as well be now as any
time," he muttered, savagely.
A swift glance from one end
of the bridge to the other showed that
there were no interfering passers-by
to dread. He cast one look at the
stars — blinking at him tliru a thick
pall of fog — another one at the swirl-
ing, black water beneath him. Then,
his hand M'as on the rail — his body
bent forward — his muscles drawn
tense

"Oh, no, no ; you mustn't !" cried a
voice, from out the fog. There was a
soft rush of footsteps, and a light
hand lay upon his. It was very dark
on the bridge; he could just distin-
guish a slender form, in a long, dark
ulster, standing close beside him.

"You mustn't!" the voice begged
again. ' ' How could you think of such
a thing — ^you, a man, able to fight the
world?"

"To fight it, yes; to work with it,
no, ' ' he replied, bitterness burning in
his tones. "That's all I've ever done
— fight it! And I'm floored, now,
down and out, ready to cry 'enough'
and quit it. Why didn't you let me
alone? I'd be at rest now."

"At rest?" she questioned, quietly.
"Does the soul of a coward ever rest?

Somehow, I picture it a black, skulk-
ing, cringing shadow, driven up and
down thru eternity by an unquiet,
tormenting fear that forbids peace."

' ' A coward ! " he exclaimed. ' ' You
take a great deal for granted — you
judge with no knowledge of the cir-
cumstances."

"There are no circinnstances that
justify a man, or a woman, in giving
up the fight."

They were walking toward the end
of the bi'idge now, her hand still
resting lightly on his arm. He was
vaguely conscious that her figure was
slender and graceful ; that her voice
rippled lightly, with trained modula-
tion ; that she carried herself with the
light, sure poise of the woman he had
known long ago.

"What do you know about it?" he
demanded, harshly. "What do you
know of the world — of poverty, temp-
tation, sin, regret, despair?"

At the fierceness of his question she
stopped, drawing him swiftl.y into the
circle of pale radiance from the arc-
light at the bridge's end.

"Look at me," she said.

He stared at her, dumbly: at the
slender figure, so shabbily clothed ; at
the holes in the tiny shoes; at the

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

luuuls, thin to boniness; at the great
l)raids of dark hair, fraiiiing a face so
pallid that tlie big eyes, beneath their
heavy lashes, looked like smouldering
coals, from which the light had almost
died.

"You see," she said, very quietly,
"I know all about it — all! Poverty,
sin, temptation, regret, despair! But
you must keep fighting. Tiie way out,

waiting. At last the line began to
move up, irregularly, with nnich
unsteady shuffling. Charles Ilutton
moved with it, dully, only half con-
scious of his surroundings. He was
faint and sick ; his brain was whirling ;
wherever lie looked, he seemed to see
black, swirling waters, stars shining
palely thru the fog, a slender form
beside him in the darkness.

CHARLES RETURNS TO llIS DYING J-UTllER

for you or for me, does not lie by the
river, my friend. Good-by."

She was running swiftly away, into
the darkness. He called after her,
hoarsely :

"But who are you?"

"One of the submerged," floated
back the lightly rippling voice.

The bread-line was an unusually
long one that night, a shivering, fog-
drenched thread of humanity stretch-
ing far down the Bowery. At the very
end stood Charles Hutttfti, grimly

"Here, take your coffee," a voice
gi'owled, good-naturedly. " 'Taint
often youse is last in line ; must be you
had a date tonight."

"I did — and it was a good one."
The black coffee had cleared his brain
and braced his flagging energies.
' ' Say, let me see your paper a minute,
will you ? I want to look at the want
ads."

"Sure. Goin' to work, I s'pose,"
chuckled the lucky owner of a paper,
facetiously.

"That's just what I am," declared

FROM THE SUBMERGED

Hutton, scanning the page, seriously.
Suddenly he gave a quick exclama-
tion, staring at the paper with wide
eyes. A moment later he had dropped
it, with a hasty "Thanks," and
hurried away.

"Now I wonder wot got him?"
soliloquized the man who was left be-
hind. He picked up the paper, spell-

Tlie bread-line continued to train
its dingy length down the Bowery
every night, dumbly patient while it
lengthened ; then, hitching unsteadily
forward, shortening, disintegrating,
flinging its miserable fragments of
humanity out upon the city's tide
again, to drift until another night
closed in. The fragments varied in

THE BREAD-LINE — BUT CHARLES NO LONGER APPEARS

ing out some of the "wants" labori-
ously. "Dont see nuttin' for him to
go nutty over," he decided, folding
tlie wrinkled sheet for further perusal
on a park bench.

But the paragraph that had sent
Charles Hutton ofl', in such desperate
haste, Avas not a want ad. It was
headed personal, and it read :

Charlie H.: Come home to me. I am
dying. I forgive all. Father.

name and birthplace, perhaps, from
night to night, but the type seldom
changed. Always the dull, discour-
aged face, the shifty glance, the stolid
indifference of the man hardened to
poverty and alms.

Round the corner laj' Chinatown,
quiet by day, awaiting the visits of
tourists, philanthropists, and the
ever-present social workers, studying
"types," making copious notes in
leather-backed note-books, as if man 's

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

problems could be cataloged, indexed,
filed away, and so disposed of. At
night Chinatown woke up ; the tour-
ists and social workers continued to
come, carefully guided and chaper-
oned now, but others came, too.
Women with yellow hair and painted
faces and eyes that showed, beneath
their artificial glitter, the pain of
world-weariness and despair. Men —
young, old, rich, poor, sympathetic,
curious, careless — they all came,
looked on, amused themselves, and

their presence — they lay in studied
attitudes, smoking, and awaiting the
inevitable visitors, who seldom failed,
to leave substantial coin in token of
their sympathy.

Into this den stepped Charles
Hutton, handsome, prosperous, well-
groomed, with a richly gowned beauty
clinging to his arm, while she peered
around with wondering, amused eyes.
Other women in the party looked hor-
rified, or sympathetic, but this girl
seemed to see, in the tawdry, miser-

SLUMMING IN CHINATOWN

scuttled away with the first streaks
of dawn.

A reeking, noisome opium den on
Mott Street stood wide open, one
night, for tourists to enter — a certain
indication that the loathsome details
of the room had been worked out with
an eye to the tourist's patronage,
rather than for the actual use of
Chinatown's habitues. Slant-eyed
women in gaily flowered kimonos;
narrow-eyed men, with long, slimy
braids coiled above yellow faces;
others, both women and men, without
even the claim of nationality to justify

able scene, only a cause for con-
temptuous merriment.

"Wake up, Charles," she said, im-
patiently, noting the dreaminess of his
eyes. "You stand there looking as if
you had all the sentimental sympathy
of my Aunt Nell. See her over there,
now, talking to that horrible woman.
She looks ready to cry — it's all fool-
ishness. If these folks didn't want to
live this kind of life, they wouldn't do
it, that's all."

His eyes had turned to her now,
with a calm, half accusing scrutiny,
which made her flush, impatiently.

FROM THE SUBMERGED

"Are you quite sure you know what
you're talking about, Dolores?" he
asked.

"Certainly," she flashed back, posi-
tively. ' ' I told father, tonight, where
we were going, and he said it was all
right, if you came with us, but not to
let my sympathies carry me away, for
all these places are fixed up to im-
press sightseers and get money out of
them. And he said these people could
be decent, if they wanted to."

was her right to know. But, was he
to marry her? He glanced down at
the beautiful face again, and a flood
of doubt swept his heart. A few hours
ago he had been sure that he loved .
her. He had tried to propose to her,
first in the conservatory, then, when
an interruption came at an inoppor-
tune moment, he had led her out to the
balcony, away from all her guests, to
try again. But again an interrup-
tion had come, and then the pro-

CHARLES IS ABOUT TO PROPOSE, BUT-

But Charles Hutton made no re-
sponse. He was thinking of the vast
difference between his life tonight
and the life he had been living two
years ago, when his dying father's
message had called him home, to re-
ceive his blessing and share in his
vast fortune. He felt a sudden im-
pulse to tell this girl all about the
follies that liad sent him from home;
the pride and rebellion that had kept
him living on, in abject poverty and
despair, only a few miles distant from
his home ; the message that had called
him back. If he was to marry her, it

posal for a slumming party banished
his chances of further tete-a-tete for
that night. "Was it fate ? Her heart-
less attitude toward the miserable be-
ings she was looking upon made him
vaguely uneasy.

"Nonsense!" he said to himself,
with an impatient shrug. "I'm get-
ting too critical. How can I expect
Dolores to understand ? She's had no
experience with life. ' '

She had left him for a moment;
now she came dancing back, her lovely
face glowing like a flower in the
sordid surroundings.

66"

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"We're going down on the Bowery,
to see the bread-line," she said.
"Uncle says it's great fun."

"Fun for the bread-line, or for the
spectators?" he asked, cj'nieally, but,
in the bustle of departure, she did not
notice his question.

The bread-line! Yes, there it was,
just as it had been two years ago. The
same slinking, shuffling file of out-
casts, waiting for the scant portion
which would put a little warmth into

spirit, he was walking a long, dark
bridge, with an arc-light flaring
dimly thru thick fog, in the distance.
Beside him walked a slender, dark-
cloaked figure. A chill wind was
cutting their faces, a dank mist was
floating up from the black waters be-
neath. The girl was speaking to him,
in a rippling voice, and her hand was
resting lightly on his arm. In a flash,
Charles Hutton realized what it was
for which he had been vaguely hunger-

CHARLES IS AGAIN INTERRUPTr:D

their starved bodies. Somehow, he
had never realized before that the
bread-line was still forming every
night; that while he lived in luxury,
the rest of them were there, living the
same old life. His thoughts were in-
terrupted now by Dolores, who put a
delicate hand on his arm as she
leaned forward, pointing.

"See, what a lot of them there
are," she said, "and they all look
alike, dont they ? Isn 't it funny ! ' '

Funny! What was it that swept
over him with the touch of her hand
upon his arm like that ? Suddenly, in

ing, thruout the long mouths ; why it
Avas that he had felt unsatisfied with
life, unsatisfied with Dolores, doubt-
ing his love, not knowing his own
mind, and, with the realization, came
a great wave of tliankfulness that he
had not committed himself, that he
was free to seek her — the girl whose
name he did not even know, the girl
who had saved his life and fled away
into the darkness.

" It is time to go home, ' ' he told the
party. ' ' The best part of the show is
over, now that the animals are fed."
and they laughed, not noticing the

FROM TEE SUBMERGED

irony of his voice. Aud, while; they
made their way homeward, flying np
the long avenue in cozy limousines,
his mind was asking, over and over:
"How shall I find her — not even her
name to help me? Wliere shall I
hegin? -

"Begin at the river, where she
found you, before," some inner voice
seemed to urge, and, for want of a
better suggestion, lie acted upon tliis
one. Bidding Dolores good-night, at
her own door, he ran down the steps,
and gave a hurried direction to the
chauffeur. In another moment he was
speeding toward the river.

The bridge was dark and silent; a
gray mist was rising from the water,
obscuring the stars, it was very late,
and no one had crossed the bridge for
a half-hour, wlien a slender form
crept softly out from the shadows
and peered cautiously up and down
the dim lengtii of tiie structure. No
one was in sight; no footstep was
approaching. She caught her breath
in a strangling sob, and turned her
face, for an instant, toward the stars,
but the fog hid them — tliei-e was no
tiny ray of light. Slie leaned far over
tlie rail, looking down into the swirl-
ing water.

"It's cowardly," siie wiiispered,
softly. "I hate myself for doing it —
but I must have rest — I naust have
rest!"

For an instant, she stood motion-
less, watching, listening. Then, her
hand was on the rail — her body bent
forward — her muscles drawn tense —

A rush of heavy footsteps, a horri-
fied cry, in a man's strong tones, a
hand upon hers, closing over it, draw-
ing her back, with firm grasp.

"You mustn't do that, yon know,"
he said, and his tones were shaking.
' ' I was just in time, wasn 't I ? There,
there, dont cry, now. I'm going to
take you back to my ear, and take you
where you'll be cared for, until you
get on your feet again. Wasn't it
lucky I came? You see, I am looking
for some one — some one that I'm ter-
ribly anxious to find, and I just
thought she might possibly be walking

in this direction. But 111 see to yon
first — tlien I'll look for her again."

He was patting her hand, and
soothing her, as one soothes a way-
ward, frightened child, but she did
not speak. She only sobbed and
shuddered and pulled her worn scarf
closer about her face.

' ' Walk back to the end of the bridge
with me now," he went on. "My car
is there. And dont take it so hard.
Let me tell you, I was all ready to
take that dive myself, two years ago,
and I was stopped — stopped by a slip

ONE OP THOSE MINISTERS AVHO ARE
ALWAYS READY

of a girl, who ran away into the dark-
ness, and I never saw her again. But
I'll find her, if it takes the rest of my
life. She'll be your friend, too, after
I find her; we'll be friends to all the
unfortunates — 'the submerged,' she
called them."

They were walking toward the end
of the bridge now, his hand beneath
her arm, but still she did not speak.
They came out into the glow of the
arc-light, and he beckoned to the
waiting chauffeur.

"Drive close here," he said; "the
lady is faint. "

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

WELCOMING THE BRIDE

Then, as he would have lifted the
slender form, to place it upon the soft
cushions of the ear, the light fell full
upon lier face, and he gave a sudden
cry of joy and wonder.

' ' You ! " he cried. ' ' You ! is it pos-
sible? And I was just in time! A
moment later, and — my God !"

His arms closed around her, and
she yielded, with a long sigh. For a
time there was silence — a silence tense
with gratitude and love and hope.

Then he turned to the chauffeur, who
was discreetly watching the river.

"Dan," he said, "do you know
where one of those ministers live
who'll perform the marriage cere-
mony at any hour ? ' '

"Yessir," said Dan, promptly, his
face betraying no emotion whatever;
"I've taken many a couple to one."

"Then take us, immediately," or-
dered Ilutton.

' ' Yessir, ' ' said Dan.

oevens

By LAUA MITCHELL

F,vE^' times one this week I've seen
I'ictures tlirowii l).v tlio (left luacliine.
Seven times two tlie films I'd view
If iliey'd show tlie number I want tliem to.
Seven times tln'oe tlie actois sa.v
I've learnt to watch for in picture play.
Seven times four were those in tlie row
.Vliead of me tonijrlit at tlie show.
Seven times five the times I clapped
My hands at a climax deftly capped.
Seven times six the friends I've known
Whose athniration is like m.v own.
Seven times seven the times I'd go
With you if I could to a Picture Show.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Myred Face Fred Mace

Sack Mennet .Mark Sennet

Mrs. Smith Mabel Normand

NOT the least bit put out by the
sudden termination of his daz-
zling, but, on the whole, unsuc-
cessful career in New York, Myred
Pace, gentleman detective, crossed the
Continent to Los Angeles, and opened
offices there for the detection of crime
and of baffling mysteries in those
intricate cases that were so often
woodenly handled by the police.

As he had settled deep in his ulster
in the Pullman, he had realized, with
delight, that his inseparable side-part-
ner and fellow sleuth, Sack Mennet,
was not his traveling companion. The
fact is that he had deliberately shook
him.

They had worked out together their
first famous cases, braving the perils
of high society and the underworld,
but then, suddenly, had come reverses.
They had bungled some highly im-
portant cases, and, henceforth. Pace,
the more daring of the two, had de-
cided to start a clean slate, alone.

He had barely established himself
in his new quarters, when a tall, thin
man, dressed as a steam-fitter's helper,
presented himself, and started be-
laboring his office radiator with a
hammer. It was in August, and melt-
ing hot, with the windows thrown
open, and Pace stood the mechanic's
pother as well as he could.

Presently he got up softly, crossed
over back of his peace-disturber, and
looked fixedly at the kneeling man's

shoes. They were of a stylish last,
but caked with mud on the soles.

"Ah!" said Pace, in an even tone,
"it is Sack Mennet, and no other."

The noise on the radiator ceased,
and the tall mechanic turned a sheep-
ish, injured face toward the speaker.

"Yes," he admitted, slowly, "it's
me — ^but how did you spot me,
Myred?"

"It was the acme of simplicity,
bonehead," answered Pace. "The
noise at the radiator apprised me that
some one was in the office, the in-
appropriateness of a steam-fitter in
August warned me of a disguise, and
I had only to notice the caked mud on
your soles to complete the discovery."

"I had first thought of appearing
as an iceman," began Mennet, some-
what sadly, "but that role has been
done to death.

"Tell me, Myred," he burst out
eagerly, "what the mud on my
soles "

"Nothing more simple. That par-
ticular kind of mud is found in quan-
tity only around the excavation of the
New York subway. As soon as I
recognized it "

"But I've brushed my shoes re-
peatedly since then," protested
Mennet.

"It makes no difference," said
Pace. "Why argue? With your lack
of theory and. imagination, you will
never make a great detective."

THE MOTION PICTURE 8T0RT MAGAZINE

The late steam-fitter was silent for a
long moment.

"At any rate," he resumed, "I
found you again — give me credit for
that."

"Yes," admitted Pace; "you have
me there. How did you do it?"

"I will begin in the categorical
method," said Mennet, sententiously,
"by asking you: Do you remember
the chauffeur who drove you to the
Penn. Railroad Station?"

" I do not, nor never will. I walked
to the Central."

"Oh, punctures ! Have it your own
way. Do you happen to remember the
organ-grinder who followed you on
foot, then?"

"Yes," said Pace, puffing excitedly
on his calabash. ' ' Was it you ? "

"Certainly, fathead!" cried Men-
net, triumphantly, "and the hand-
organ was nothing but my trunk,
ready packed. I had but to jump on
the Pullman, change clothes "

"S-s-h!" said Pace, suddenly.
"Did you hear a step on the stair?"

"Let me investigate," said Mennet,
his instincts aroused. '_.

"No ; by the time you have found a
clew on the stairs, the person will
have moved either up or down."

It was as Pace had predicted. The
sound of hurried feet continued on
up the stairs, and, presently, a knock
came upon the door.

"A woman," said Mennet; "no one
else would knock on an unlocked
door."

Pace seated himself at his desk,
rustled some documents sharply, then
called out: "Come in."

The door opened, and a diminutive
young lady, with a very flushed face,
advanced timidly into the office.

"Is this the office of Mr. Myred
Pace?" she inquired.

"I am he," said Pace, with a slight
inclination of his head.

She looked wonderingly at the easy
attitude of the steam-fitter in a Morris
chair.

"Pray be seated," said Myred,
hurriedly, "and do not be embar-
rassed at the presence of my co-
worker, Mr. Mennet, who has just

returned from a highly important
investigation of the organ-grinders'
union."

' ' Steam-fitters, ' ' corrected Mr. Men-
net.

"I have come to consult you," she
began, "about the actions of my hus-
band, Mr. Neheraiah Smith." She
paused to brush a fugitive tear from
her peachblow cheek, which made
the steam-fitter sigh in a hollow
manner.

"Mother," she resumed, "always
wanted me to marry a middle-aged
man — she said I was too romantic —
so I finally fell for the attentions of
Nehemiah, who was the proprietor of
the swellest barber shop in town. All
went well — Nemmy was a model hus-
band, until he decided to increase his
business by carrying a line of theat-
rical wigs for chemical blondes. Prom
tj?at day, ' ' she faltered, ' ' Nemmy has
not been the same."

"Calm yourself," said Pace, gal-
lantly. "It is shockingly cruel — I,

too " He left off abruptly, his

head bowed with memories.

Mennet came to his rescue. "My
colleague's researches," he began, "in
the field of chemistry have been pro-
found. She was the dearest old lady ! ' '
he exclaimed, and ended, as Pace
glowered at him fiercely.

"What made me decide to consult
you," said the little lady, abruptly,
"was the receipt of this unsigned
letter, which intimates that Mr. Smith
has transferred his affections."

Pace took the sheet of scented note-
paper which she held out to him, and
scrutinized it closely thru his magni-
fying-glass.

"To the profession which honors
me," he said, "this simple missive
whispers a hundred little stories ; but,
first, let me ask you: Have you con-
sulted the police department?"

She shook her glossy curls em-
phatically.

"Then," advised Pace, "there is no
time to be lost. In the detection of
crime — or in this ease, let us hope, only
.a passing fancy — ^there is nothing so
inconspicuous as the conspicuous. We
will, therefore, proceed to track your

AT IT AGAIN

husband in a touring-car, in which
vehicle lie would not be likely to
notice you."

"Why not use a fire-engine?"
breathed Mennet, ironically, but
Face's pretty client began to appre-
ciate his cleverness. "I'm so glad I
came to you," she said, demurely.

She was rather frightened, tho, at
the elaborate preparations of the de-
tectives for their trip. The roomy
pockets of their tweed ulsters seemed

and a well-preserved man, in his shirt-
sleeves, came out, and walked slowly
down the street, shaking his head in
perplexity.

Mrs. Smith almost screamed as
Face grasped her arm. "It's my hus-
band," she panted; "tho what he is
doing at home "

"Silence!" said the detective. "I
was unable to see his face ; but what I
have noticed convinces me that the
man is a consummate actor : his slam-

ON THE WARPATH

to swallow an armory of revolvers,
brass-knuckles, and even handcuffs.

As the car bowled along, too, to-
ward her bungalow in the suburbs,
with the two determined men in fore-
and-aft caps on either side of her, she
decided that she was become heartily
sorry of the peril she was invoking
for Nemmy.

But it was too late to revoke. Al-
ready the ear had drawn iip to the
curb, a few doors from her home, and
the inexorable men at her side were
watching it.

Presently the front-door slammed,

ming of the door, his perplexed man-
ner, and his coatlessness. "

"I should deduce them in his
favor," said Mennet.

"You tyro! of course you would,"
sneered Face. "You reason from the
evident. The whole thing was a fine
bit of acting to disarm suspicion."

Mrs. Smith was now convinced that
her husband was in the chitches of
unerring justice. Still she hesitated,
as she descended from the car, in
leaving him altogether to the mercy
of his pursuers.

"Whatever happens," she said, the

THE MOTION PICTURE 8T0BT MAGAZINE

tear coming on her cheek again, "do
not use those horrid things in your
pockets."

Face and Mennet bowed impres-
sively.

"It is only in extreme cases "

began one.

"When the bearded lamb becomes
a lion " commenced the other.

But the chugging of the motor, as
the car started, cut off their fateful
conclusions.

Under Face's direction, the car
trailed along at a snail's pace, keep-
ing just within sight of the uncon-
scious Nehemiah. For the first time,
they noticed that he was carrying a
small, white box. Presently he turned
into a side street of small shops,
and was lost to view. The detectives
stopped the car, and, ordering the
chauffeur to await their return, imme-
diately followed their quarry.

As has been said, it was a piping
hot afternoon, approaching dusk, and
the sleuths cannot be blamed for
the extraordinary events that now
occurred.

It had so happened that, at the
solicitation of his buxom wife, Nora,
the celebrated Police Captain Larkin,
also in his shirt-sleeves, had gone
around the corner to a little shop for
a box of ice-cream, tho, personally, he
preferred the contents of a two-quart
pitcher. It was Nora's birthday, and
he had made up his mind to go right
home.

Thus it was, as Face and Mennet
turned the corner and opened up the
side street to their view, that they
came almost face to face with their
supposed victim, carrying his little,
white box.

Face, with rare presence of mind,
took out his calabash, lighted it, and
stared at space with the vacuity of ah
English tourist. Mennet sank deep
into his ulster.

Captain Larkin, however, humming
a bit of a song, had no sooner turned
his own corner than they were after
him like hounds.

The happy officer ascended his
steps, and was greeted by Nora, in the
doorway, with a boisterous hug. Per-

haps he had never come home with
such a harmless package before.

"Trapped!" said Face, his eyes
glinting, "and now to business. I had
thought at first of engaging rooms
across the street, disguised as a
teacher of music, and of weaving the
net from there, but, now that the hus-
band is caught flagrante delicto, we
have but to make the arrest and
notify his wife."

"Whatever that is," murmured
Mennet. "By the way, my part is to
notify wifey. "

"Not at all," said Face ; "send the
car back for her."

"You dont mean that you're go-
ing?" demanded Mennet, paling.
"Smith looks like a peevish person,
when aroused."

"Nonsense! We will make the
arrest together — ^Mrs. Smith having
stopped at the station-house, and
bringing up reenforcements in the
car."

"I see. If Smith proves an ugly
customer, the sight of his wife and a
flock of policemen in the ear should
cool him somewhat."

' ' Yes — after we have held the spot-
light, they can do the dirty work."

Face, being a man of action when
the time came, drew his revolver, and
stealthily approached the house. Men-
net ran around the corner, whispered
to the chauffeur, and returned.

Even as Face held his finger on the
button, in a, long, sickening ring, he
could see, thru the parlor window, the
husky, faithless Smith fold the woman
to his breast again.

As the chain was slipped from the
door. Pace and Mennet stood tense,
with leveled weapons. The joy of
the chase shone from their refined
faces.

The culprit stood cowering before
them.

"What the d " he said, and

started to close the door. But Face
stuck his foot against it, and flashed
his badge in the hall-light.

' ' Silence ! " he commanded. * ' Come
with me — in five minutes she will be
here to view your shame."

Mennet succeeded in slipping the

AT IT AGAIN

slide of his bull's-eye, and its beam
caught the Captain full in the face.

He made passes, as in a nightmare,
then lowered his hands, with resigna-
tion, before the battery of weapons.

Pace slipped the handeutfs over
them, and led him out to the street.
It is true that Nora Larkin kept up a
running fire of mixed abuse and
entreaty from the parlor window, but
they treated her as a fallen angel, and
proceeded firmly on their way.

Not so with Captain Larkin. At
sight of the blueeoats and waving
nightsticks, his chest expanded, as
does a South American generalis-
simo 's before his army.

"Casey, O'Reilly; this way!" he
shouted.

With a final chug, the car slowed
down, and the blueeoats shouldered
a path thru the crowd. Before the
handcuffed prisoner they halted, sa-
luted, and became men of bronze.

AS USUAL, THEY HAVE BAGGED THE Vi^RONG GAME

A crowd collected, and impeded
their progress in this hour of triumph,
even as far as the corner. At the self-
same instant the musical humming of
a high-power car could be heard com-
ing down the asphalt, with three
policeman leaning far out of the ton-
neaii. A pretty, young woman, with
a tear ever on her cheek, was sand-
wiched in among them.

At sight of her. a shirt-sleeved,
middle-aged man in the crowd stared
till his mild eyes were popping from
their sockets.

Mennet looked at Face, and his fea-
tures became convulsed with bitter-
ness, as he noted the Roman grand-
ness of his pose and expression.

"Wake lip," he said; "the ball's
been knocked over the fence again. ' '

"Flagrante delicto," said Face, im-
pertui'bably, "which means "

"To the cooler with them," roared
Captain Larkin, in unconscious inter-
pretation.

In the tonneau, the middle-aged
man was kissing the tear from the
peachblow cheek.

THE Trysting Garden, they called it.
And in all the sunny Southland
there had not been a happier or
more beautiful spot for nearly a cen-
tury past. The garden lay just out-
side the prosperous village of Arden,
looking over one of the fairest valleys
in all Tennessee. It was reached thru
a friendly walk of lilac bushes, just
high enough and thi(;k enough to hide
the soft murmurs and gentle caresses
of amorous swains.

It had been said that they who
wooed here never knew sorrow.

But that was before the days of
'61 and the years that followed.

The sun was setting on a spring
afternoon in the year '62. Three
pairs of lovers stood together — yet
each alone in the tumult of their
own hearts — wistfully gazing off to-
ward the northwest. There the sky,
as if in prophecy, was bathed in crim-
son, with a host of gray clouds pursu-
ing and closing in on a patch of blue
sky.

Each of the young men wore a

uniform of gray. They could see the
bayonets of their newly formed regi-
ment flashing fii-e at the descending
sun yonder in the valley.

At length, two of the pairs de-
parted, leaving the garden alone to
Harvey Dixon and Mary Dexter.

"It is not as tho 1 were leaving you
alone, to the possible ravaging and
pillaging of our enemy," said Harvey,
comfortingly. ' ' Either my brother or
I had to remain home to hold our
acres. He was more fitted for the task
than I. He, Mary, will protect you
and your mother, and watch over you
with the same care as I. Why do you
shudder, dear?"

Mary did not reply at once.

"I value your care more, Harvey."

' ' Naturally, ' ' he said, smiling.

"There! I hear the bugle calling
'assembly'; you had better ride
along." Her voice was strong, yet
she clung to him dissuadingly.

"I understand that our regiment is
to be stationed near here, and carry
on a guerilla campaign until "

THE INFORMER

She was looking at him strangely.
Then, without a word, she threw her
arms about his neck and wept. The
bugle called again, and he gently dis-
engaged her arms, and slowly made
his way down the hillside, with a
heaviness of heart he had never before
known.

The girl lifted her eyes and watched
him until he mounted his horse and
rode out of sight. "Good-by, good-
by," she sobbed.

Less than a j'ear before, three of
her uncles had ridden away — never to
return. This was
the thought i n
Mary Dexter 's
mind.

This thought
grew as the
months passed by
and Harvey's
regiment was
driven fa rth er
and farther from
Arden. No word
came fi-om Har-
vey, but, already,
seventeen of
Arden 's y o u n g
sons had been
brought home to
sleep forever i n
the village bury-
ing - ground. 1 1
w a s well known
that many more
had been killed.

The sacred
Trysting Garden was now used as a
park for a vicious Union battery that
menaced the home-coming ot" any
but the dead.

Stephen Dixon, Harvey's brother,
gave ample attention to Mary and her
motlier. In fact, his attitude was that
of one having assumed not only the
duties but the privileges of the other.
He never failed to speak of his brother
except in terms of bereavement, and
always supplemented his lamenting
by soothing Mary in the most personal
and intimate way.

One day the girl was so inceiised
over his insinuating manner and com-
forting caresses that she turned on

him with: "Now, look here, Stephen;
I dont want you to take such liberties,
as you are doing more and more every

day, until your brother — but "

Stephen flushed crimson at first,
and then said contritely: "I have
every reason to fear that my brother
is dead, Mary. You rebuke me, yet I
am doing nothing more than he asked
me to do. You know what a great, un-
selfish heart he had, and what his
dearest wish was ? ' '

She shook her head; already she
was sorry for her impulsive words.

"While he
lived," he con-
tinued, speaking
in such a way as
to impress the
idea tliat Harvey
really was dead,
"his dearest wish
was that you
should become
his wife. But
should he die —
he has told me so

m any, m any
times — above all
things he desired
that I might—"

' ' No , no,
Stephen; I shant
listen to more of
this. He is not
dead, I tell you ;
he is not dead!"
But Mary 's
words and her
heart did not agree. Slie believed that
he was dead. But the weeks wore into
months, and, at length, the months
grew into a long, weary year.

Arden had become a pivot of action.
The outposts and scouts of both
armies were camped on its outskirts.
The village was suffering great hard-
ship that brought its inhabitants into
a closer communion than they had
ever before known. They were as one
heart with their bleeding South. They
prayed and Avept and clung to each
other closer than, brothers and sisters.
Stephen had been obliged to aban-
don the Dixon plantation temporarily,
and he was welcomed to share the roof

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

of the Dexters by both mother and
daughter. His daily acts of thought-
fulness soon won him a close place in
their affections.

And soon Mary caught herself
drinking in the many little tricks of
gesture and speech that belonged to
her lamented Harvey, and trying to
reconcile them and her heart to
Stephen. As for Stephen, his line of
attack was never allowed to waver or
pause for a moment. He first won her
sympathy, then preyed upon it in the
name of him who
had passed away
forever.

"Oh, if I only
knew,'' she
mourned one day,
after Stephen had
taken her in his
arms and let her
weep out the bit-
terness in her
heart. He had
done nothing more
than that, yet
there had been,
in this manly
strength to fall
back on, a comfort
that she scarcely
dared acknowl-
edge. And it was
his wish, she told
herself.

They were con-
stant companions
now. Stephen's
burning passion for the girl had now
risen to a pitch that frightened her.
He no longer hesitated in declaring
his love.

"Harvey has been dead more than
a j^ear now," he urged. "God knows
how sincerely we have both mourned
him. Let us unite our griefs. Accept
my love and my proposal of marriage,
and let us leave our pillaged lands
and aid the Cause on a foreign shore. ' '

There was neither promise nor re-
fusal in her words. "I must knoiv,
before I shall ever think of anything
or any one else but him." Yet, half
in despair, she knew that the very
roofs would probably be soon burned

fierce had become
possess Arden, the

Both sides had

over the heads, so
the struggle to
bone of contention,
sworn to demolish it.

Stephen left Mary that day, his
face reflecting anything but the sweet
patience of his words. He went to his
room, and gave a private exhibition of
his pent-up feelings. A few pieces of ■
the furniture were smashed in the
process. Then he went away, leaving
a note saying that he would be gone
for several days on a matter concern-
i n g his late
b r 1 h e r. Asa
]n after of fact,
Stephen secreted
himself and stayed
for three da.ys in
the old Dixon
homestead, which
had been closed.

Mary was fran-
tic with unre-
quited anxiety.
This was height-
ened by the fact
that there had
been a great deal
of desultory fight-
ing around and
a li u t A !• d e n ,
which grew fiercer
each day. Strange-
ly, she found her-
self anxious now
lest Stephen, too,
had met the in-
visible fate that
she no longer doubted was Harvey's.

Her anxiety was relieved, in a great
feeling of thankfulness, on the after-
noon of the third day, when Stephen
returned, looking very much as tho he
had been on a rough campaign. He
had, too, in some measure, for an out-
post of Union soldiers, in search of an
escaped prisoner, had routed him out
of his old home and given him a lively
chase that bid fair to end fatally.

"Oh, you are safe!" cried Mary,
giving free vent to her feelings. "I

had feared "

He had actually drawn her closely
to him. "No," he said, "but I had a
narrow escape, and I have news."

TEE INFORMER

She drew away fi-om him, and
looked, searchingly, into his eyes.

"Yes," he said quietly; "my
brother Harvey is — dead. He was
killed — in battle. I have seen — his
grave." He enumerated these par-
ticulars as tho they were indeed hard
to utter.

She did not weep. But, turning to
him a veiy i^ale and solemn face, she
spoke quietly : " I shall go to my room
a little while. ' '

eyes, unconsciously, sought the win-
dow of Mary's room. She, too, was
looking out in alarm, and beckoned
for him to hurry in.

They met in the parlor.

"They seem actually to be fighting
on Rocky Mound, right on our own
plantation. There is some sort of dis-
turbance going on there. As much as
I hate to do it, I can see that we shall
soon have to desert the dear old
place."

When she turned, he had taken a
step toward her, as if to make some
further statement. Had she paused,
he, no doubt, would have said some-
thing calamitous.

Stephen then turned his attention,
with no little apprehension, to the
warlike situation now developing on
every side of the Dexter plantation.
He saw, with alarm, that a small body
of Yankees had quartered themselves
between the farm and the town of
Arden. The town itself seemed to be
in the hands of Confederates. He
seemed to view this latter fact with
even greater apprehension, and his

"Mary," began Stephen, taking
both her hands. She looked up at liim,
and resignedly followed the pressure
of his arms. "I can protect you
better now," he said, "my wife-to-
be."

There was a fusillade of shots now,
not two hundred yards from the
house, several of the bullets splinter-
ing the shingles.

Stephen frowned at this sinister
interruption. Mary had drawn away
and was listening for the recurrence
of a sound that had taken all the blood
from her face, that had been crimson
but a moment before.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

From the window they could see a
party of Yankees running hither and
thither, as tho they had lost something.
Next they were conscious of some one
having entered the house, and heard
Dave, their young slave, speaking in a
voice that was full of tears. Then the
door of the room, in which they stood,
was cautiously shoved open. A face
peered thru that was half covered
with blood, and next a man, with his
tattered clothing covered with mud,
half fell forward into the room, with
a groan.

Stephen was truly looking the part
that he no longer played. His face
had become cruel and savage under
the weight of his keen chagrin.

The man was his hrother, Harvey
Dixon.

Mary, with tears streaming down
her face, had fallen like a crushed
flower at the soldier's feet for a
single moment. Tlien she became the
capable woman that Harvey had
learnt to love. She dragged the
wounded man to a near-by settee, all
the while calling assistance. Soon
there were her mother and old
Mammy Cindie and her boy, Dave.
Stephen had stepped out of the door
and stood leaning against a post, lika
a man who had suddenly lost his sense
of comprehension.

Mary came rushing out to recon-
noiter. Unspeakable disgust came
into her eyes at the sight of the man
who had tried to steal her love. .

"If I were a man, I'd shoot
you!"

Stephen turned at this rebuke, with
an evil fire smouldering in his eye.
Whatever his intention may have been,
he did not carry it out, but walked
away without a word.

Mary went back into the house,
where she found Dave looking on with
saucer-eyed wonder. "Here, Dave,
quick! You follow Master Stephen.
He's going to do something wicked
that will maybe kill us all. Use all
the brains you have now. ' '

In the meantime, thru the tender
and efficient treatment he had re-
ceived, Harvey Dixon had consider-
ably revived.

"You haven't much time to lose;
they'll be after me again. I got away
from them two days ago, and they will
hound me to death. Oh, Mary, I can
die now that I have had a sight of you
once more!"

"Come, Cindie! You take hold
of Master Harvey's other shoulder;
we're going to take him to your cabin
and hide him there."

The plucky girl and the old mammy
supported the wounded man to the
cabin. They had just deposited their
burden and had begun to screen him
in a way that he would never have
been discovered by the casual looker-
in, when, at that moment, Dave came
running, his face ashen.

"Massa Steve's done gone an' tole
dem good-for-nothin' Yankees we got
Massa Harvey heah, an' dat we gwine
to stow him 'way in duh cabin heah !"
he whispered to Mary.

' ' They know you are here, Harvey. "

"It's no use," groaned Harvey.
"Load my pistols and leave me to
have it out with those fellows. I'll
get more than one of them before
they get me. Oh, God, I can hardly
breathe!"

"Dave." There was a note in
Mary's voice that made all present
turn to the girl in abject obedience.
"I want you to get to the village, even
tho you lose your life in the attempt.
Our men are near there somewhere.
Go the back way, even if it is a mile
farther. If we are not rescued, we
mean to die here in this cabin. Now
fly!"

All three watched him run cau-
tiously thru the orchard, and thence
down the fence that skirted the lane.
Hardly a minute later there were
several puffs of smoke from the hill-
top, and the boy was seen to roll over
and over. The onlookers groaned with
chagrin. All except Cindie, who gave
a chuckle. "Dat aint nufSn' but dat
nigger playin' 'possum — you doan'
know dat coon."

Sure enough, a few seconds later,
they saw him crawl out of sight over
the weed-grown crest of the hill.

Harvey was shaking his head. "I
dont like to disappoint you, but the

THE INFORMER

Yanks have a cordon foi* a mile abont
this place, on the lookout for me.
They'll have Dave before he gets much
farther." The next instant, almost,
they heard shots, and four or five
Union soldiers appeared, with their
muskets ready for immediate use.

Mary's face paled. "Close the door
— quick!" she cried. "Now, mother,
you devote all your attention to Har-
vey. Get down as low as you can.
Come, Cindie, help me barricade the
door and all the windows but this one.

takes a step nearer," she warned
them, darting inside and leveling the
pistol thru the open window.

All four of the men advanced with
a shout. None of the plucky girl's
first shots took effect. , The soldiers
dropped down and began to fire, still
approaching. All of a sudden one of
them threw up his hands and fell back,
shot thru the head. As tho she had
found her rauge, another met the same
fate the next instant. The remaining
two fled.

One of them was seen, a minute
later, signalling from the top of
the hill for his companions. A
dozen blue coats appeared, and
there was an exciting colloquy,
with frequent gesticulations in
the direction of the cabin and the
two prostrate forms before it.

Mary turned, panting, and
blackened with powder. Ilarvey
was too weak to do much more

If they think they are going
to take us easily, they will
find themselves mistaken!"

Harvey had half risen,
trying to load one of his
pistols. But he fell back
with a cry of anguish.
Mary's mother was obliged
to give immediate attention
to his bleeding wounds.

' ' There, Cindie, " c o m -
manded the girl, "are two
heavy boxes of ammunition, where we
hid them in case our men came. Get
out the two pistols and the muskets,
and load everything up."

The four soldiers were approaching,
with little or no caution. Mary went
to the door, one of the big pistols in
her hand. "We women are here alone,
and dont want to be molested."

The soldiers gave a laugh of de-
rision, one of them raising his musket
menacingly.

"I will shoot the first man who

than smile, but it was the proudest
smile that can come to a man's face.
That the attacking party had in-
creased to two score men was nothing
to her now. It would make her service
all the more gloi'ious. Only once did
she show emotion^ — that was when she
saw the form of Stephen slinking
about among them. Tt provoked her
to fire the pistol point-blank into their
midst. She thought she saw Stephen
fall.

This brought an angry shout and

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

an immediate attack. The men sur-
rounded the cabin for the distance of
a quarter of a mile, stealthily ad-
vancing in squads of four and five.
Soon the cabin was riddled with
bullets, and that any of its inmates
escaped being wounded was something
of a miracle. On the other hand,
seven soldiers now lay outstretched on
the level plateau before the cabin.

Mary was nearly exhausted, and
could scarcely lift to the ledge the

were loaded, and then turned her
attention to the door, that was being
furiously assaulted.

A minute later, a young officer
burst in, sword in hand. Wlien he
saw the lone girl defender, he fell back
in amazement and admiration. But
his men had seen the prostrate form
of Harvey. A minute later, they were
taking him away, dealing gently with
tlie women who had attacked them
so furiously.

muskets and pistols that Cindie regu-
larly loaded for her. At length the
faithful darky sank back with a cry,
swooning under the pain of a slight
wound. Mary sat down limply, with
tears of desperation in her eyes.
Harvey looked on with helpless ad-
miration. Mary's mother was washing
Cindie 's hurt.

There had come a lull. Then, sud-
denly, there rose a shout from all
sides. Mary wearily rose and dis-
charged the remaining weapons that

But this victory was short-lived. A
troop of Confederate cavalry had been
informed by the intrepid Dave. They
had swept across country, and met the
victors off guard as they were emer-
ging from the cabin. Their force was
overwhelming against the handful of
men in blue, and there was nothing to
do but surrender.

It was an important victory just at
that time, and Mary Dexter 's valor
was responsible for it. She learnt,
{Concluded on page 156.)

THE WM

'^U

"1^ UT 1 've loved you all your life,
tl Beatrice ; it doesn 't seem j os-
sible that you dont care for
me!"

"I do care for you, Paul; you're
the dearest friend I have, but I dont
love you — not that way — I cant, dont
you see "

She broke oflf, stammering, her gaze
fluttering away from his ardent eyes,
while the rosy color flared, suddenly,
in her face. An amazed, incredulous
wonder crept into Paul's eyes, and
his face paled a trifle.

"Why, Beatrice," he urged, "tell
me what you mean ; it cant be possible
that there is any one else "

The blue eyes met his beseechingly,
now; tears were trembling on the
dark lashes, as if to quench the fire
of her cheeks.

' ' Haven 't you noticed — " she began
bravely; then she paused, tilting her
fair head quickly to listen. Footsteps
were crashing thru the brush, a man's
gay voice was calling: "Beatrice — oh.
Bee — where are you, anyhow?"

"Here I am; come on," Beatrice
called, and, as he saw her face
brighten, and heard the note of un-
conscious gladness in her voice, a
sudden, appalling realization swept
over Paul Warren. It was Jack whom
she loved! Jack, his careless, hand-
some, lovable, young brother, who had
never had a wish thwarted, nor a

desire ungratified. For a moment, he
stood stunned by the revelation that
destroyed his fond hopes, but. with
quick command of himself, he forced
a smile to meet Beatrice's anxious
eyes.

"There, children, run along now,"
he said lightly. "This tree needs
trimming up, and I'm going to do it
before I go back to the house. ' '

"Come on. Bee," laughed Jack.
"Paul's grumpy; he doesn't want
us."

■ Hand in hand, they ran down the
wooded path, their light laughter
floating back to the man, who watched
them out of sight, his eyes filled with
bitter longing ; then his head dropped
against a low, friendly branch, and he
stood very still.

The branches of the encircling trees
parted, softly, and a slight figure
stole warily toward Paul. It was a
young and very beautiful girl, black-
eyed, with a mass of straight, black
hair, and a complexion whose clear,
olive tints needed a second glance to
proclaim her an octoroon. As she
stood now, looking down at the bowed
head, her features were distorted with
a passion of rage, blended with fear
and dread. Twice her lips opened,
as if to speak, and closed again ; once
she stretched out a slender hand, as if
to touch the bowed head, but the
hand wavered, hesitated, and was

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

withdrawn. Turning, she crept
softly away, along the green forest
path, unseen and unheard by the man,
who still stood motionless.

"What shall I do — ^what can I
do?" she sobbed, as she went on.
"Oh, why couldn't she have loved
Paul? Maybe Jack would have
married me, then! But she is not
to blame — poor, innocent little Bea-
trice!"

Jack Warren, whistling idly, as he
sauntered down the path, after leav-
ing Beatrice, came to a sudden stop,
and his face darkened with a frown
as he saw the sobbing girl who was
waiting for him.

"Well, what's the matter now,
Zelma?" he demanded, impatiently.

"Please give me a few minutes.
Jack," she begged. "I must talk to
you."

"Well, come back here, then, out of
sight of folks," he growled, leading
the way, sulkily, "and make it short
— I've got a date in half an hour.
And, for heaven's sake, cut out the
weeps!"

The girl conquered her sobs, and
stood for a moment looking, pitifully,
into Jack's angry eyes. When she
spoke, her voice was tensely subdued.

"Jack," she said, "are you going
to desert me and marry Beatrice?"

"I'm certainly going to marry
Beatrice," he declared. "We may as
well have an understanding right
now, Zelma. I'm not deserting you;
I'm not really your husband, and
never will be. Haven't I told you I'd
provide for you ? I '11 give you plenty
of money. If you 're so afraid of your
brother finding out, you can go away
from here."

"But, Jack — " she had sunk to
her knees now, and was clutching
desperately at his unwilling hand,
" — ^you promised to marry me — and I
love you so ! What can I do ? Think
of the awful trouble for me — ^you
have no right to marry Beatrice — she
would not have you, if she knew —
you must marry me, in the regular
way. Jack — ^before a minister."

But he flung her away, savagely.
"Marry you?" he sneered. "Why

should I? You were a fool if you
ever expected me to."

"But you promised, again and
again," she pleaded.

"Oh, drop it," he snarled; "you
knew I was a white man, didn't you?
Here" — he thrust a roll of bills into
her hands — "take this and go; I'll
give you more, any time, if you'll be
sensible, but you ought to know that
I cant really marry one of your
kind!"

With a bound, she was upon her
feet, flinging the money savagely into
his face.

"Take your accursed money!" she
shrieked. "I wouldn't touch it if I
starved! God never made one law
for white and another for black.
Under your white skin, your soul is as
black as night. Marry Beatrice, but
remember this: your children and
hers will pay the debt of your sin,
just as the child that is born to me
must pay the debt of mine ! The sins
of the father will rest upon the
children — it is God's law!"

With this, she was gone, running
desperately, like some hunted animal,
across the fields to the pretty cottage
where she lived with her brother,
Jim.

When Jim entered the cottage,
after his day's work, Zelma was
bustling about the kitchen, heavy-
eyed, but outwardly composed. He
eyed her keenly for a moment before
he spoke.

"Did you know Paul Warren's
going away, to stake a claim in the
new diggin's?" he asked, suddenly.

"Paul going away?" Zelma re-
peated. "Oh, you dont mean he is
going to stay?"

Her thoughts were of Paul as she
had last seen him, in his bitter disap-
pointment, and her eyes filled with
sympathetic tears. To her brother,
who" had been struggling against
suspicion of his sister for many days,
her agitation came as an agonizing
corroboration of his worst fears.

"What's it to you?" he demanded,
suddenly catching her by the shoul-
der, and turning her terrified face up
to him with a strong hand. "Why

THE DEBT

should you be so worked up if he has
gone to stay?"

"Whv, we — we've always been
friends," she gasped. "You know
the Warrens have always been good
to us."

"Friends!" he repeated bitterly.
"A nice kind of friendship — do you
think I dont know, girl ? I 've known
for weeks, only I wasn 't sure, till
now, who it was. I suppose this is
the result of poor mother sending us
1 school with
them, and bring-
ing us up like
white folks! I'm
glad mother's
dead! But I'll
find him, wherever
he's gone, and I'll
kill him like a dog
—mind that!"

Then, as the girl
stood sobbing, the
door opened, and
Paul stepped in.

"Hello, Jim,"
he said, "I just
dropped in to say
good-by. I'm off
for a long stay."
He stopped as he
came nearer and
saw Zelma 's agi-
tation. "Why,
what's the matter
— can I do any-
thing?"

"There's a lot
wrong, as you
know very well,"
roared Jim, his control snapping at
what he thought was heartless hypoc-
risy, "and there's just one thing
you're going to do about it, and that's
to die — right here and now ! ' '

In an instant, he had whipped a
heavy revolver from its shelf and
leveled it at the astonished visitor,
but Zelma sprang forward, clutching
the weapon desperately.

"Dont, Jim. dont — you're wrong —
it isn't Paul— it's "

A sharp exclamation made all three
turn, sharply. There, in the door-
way, stood Beatrice — pretty, tender-

ZELMA PLEADS WITH JACK

hearted Beatrice, who was adored by
every one on the ranch.

"Why, whatever is the matter?"
she asked, coming forward slowly,
her cheeks paling before the shining
weapon. "Oh, Paul, what is it ? "

She looked from Paul to Jim, from
Jim to Zelma, and back to Paul's
face. A terrible doubt began to
form, vaguely, in her innocent mind,
as she spoke to Paul appealingly.
"Tell me what it means."

All the horror of
the situation
passed thru Paul's
brain like a flash.
He saw Beatrice,
w h o m he loved
better than his
own life, crushed,
heartbroken, her
confidence in Jack
destroyed, her
love and happi-
ness blighted. He
saw his young
brother's life
wrecked, saw him
stretched dead by
Jim ' s vengeful
hand. Only a
moment he hesi-
tated, then, with a
meaning glance at
Jim, he took up
his burden.

"It was a mis-
take of Jim's," he
said calmly. "Jim
thought I was go-
ing away and
leave Zelma, but I'm not. I'm going
to marry her, and take her with me. ' '
For an instant, Beatrice stared
into Paul's set face. Then she
shrank back, shuddering.

"Oh," she said, "and I had such
confidence in you, Paul, and you said
you loved me — you dared to ask me to
marry you, when you had this guilt
on your soul! No wonder you did
not come to say good-by to me ! And
I ran after you to say it, because I
thought you were grieving for me!
Oh, Paul, how could you ? ' '
Without waiting for any reply, she

THE MOTION PICTURE STORT MAGAZINE

left the room, and Paul stood staring
at the spot where she had been. Then
he turned to Jim.

"I'll sleep here tonight," he said
quietly, "so that you wont worry
about my running away. In the
morning, I'll marry Zelma, and we
will go. No, be quiet, Zelma" — as
the weeping girl tried to speak — "I
know best; obey me."

But when Jim, after a watchful,
sleepless night, knocked at Zelma 's
door, her room was empty; her bed
was unrumpled, but a tiny note was
pinned to her pillow :

Dearest Jim:
such a sacrifice.

I cant let Paul make
I have gone forever.
Zelma.

""Well, I cant kill you — ^you were
willing to marry her, and that clears
you, I suppose — now get out!" were
Jim's only words to the man, who,
without reply, took up his sorrowful
way across the mountains.

A year had passed, when Paul left
the rude cabin on his claim one
morning, and took the trail to the
settlement. As he paused for a
moment, at a spring, a faint, wailing
cry came to his ears.

"A baby!" he exclaimed. "It cant
be possible!"

A few rapid strides around a bend
in the trail, and he paused in utter
amazement. For there, on the green
grass beside the trail, crouched Zelma,
her head pillowed against a mossy
stump, a tiny babe clasped close to
her breast.

"Paul!" she exclaimed, as he bent
over her. "God has sent you — I am
dying."

"But how — " he began, but the
weary voice interrupted.

"Never mind how; it is fate. I
wandered far — into the darkness and
the unknown — now I shall rest. Take
my baby, Paul. Care for her — ^see
how fair and white she is — ^my
Minna ! But she must pay the debt —
the sins of the father "

The voice trailed into silence;
there was a gasp, a struggle — then a
great silence.

Late that night, Paul Warren,

with the babe in his arms, knelt
beside the newly made grave near his
cabin door.

"The sins of the father," he
whispered. "God grant that I may
avert the penalty."

But his brooding vision pictured
not the dark-eyed woman who lay so
quietly beneath the fresh earth, but a
blue-eyed, fair-haired girl, shrinking
away from him with reproachful,
horrified eyes.

It seemed that the tiny stranger
brought luck to the new claim. A
paying streak of silver ore was dis-
covered soon after her appearance,
and Paul's fortunes prospered. When
Minna was old enough for school,
they moved to the nearest settlement,
and there, happy in Paul's love and
protection, she grew into a lovely,
joyous womanhood. No hint of her
parentage ever darkened her life. To
her, Paul was her devoted father, and
the lonely grave back on the moun-
tainside held her mother, who had
wished that her last resting-place
beneath the pines should be undis-
turbed.

And to Paul, Zelma 's child was the
reason for his living ; the comfort for
his lonely, misjudged life. Thru all
the years, he had remained silent, not
once communicating with the old
home.

"It is better for them to think I am
dead," he had decided. When old
memories, poignant with pain, swept
over him, he looked at Minna, and
was comforted, trusting that his
faithful care of her might atone for
his brother's sin. Often he pictured
Beatrice, happy with Jack and the
little son, of whose birth he had heard,
and, tho his eyes darkened with pain,
his heart was serene, knowing that he
had saved her from sorrow.

At last the time came when Minna
was sent East to study, and he waited
anxiously for news from her. She had
been so unwilling to go; at the last
she had clung to him, sobbing.

He thought of her clinging arms,
and of her tear-stained face, now, as
he waited for the mail-carrier, and his
eyes were very tender.

THE DEBT

"Perhaps I was wrong to let her
go," he mused; "she is a good girl,
and so tender-hearted — suppose some-
thing should happen to make her un-
happy 'way out there alone ? Suppose
she should meet some one who knew
about her mother? But that's im-
possible — there's not a soul in the
wide world but myself that knows the
secret. I've kept my trust, and it isn't
possible for any complications of that
kind to hurt her now."

Not possible ? No mortal can fore-
see the strange
and sudden turns
of Pate's handi-
work. Twenty
minutes after
Paul had made
his confident
assertion, he was
staring, with
horrified eyes, at
a letter from
Minna. The sen-
tences, written in
the pretty, girlish
handwriting,
seemed too
grotesquely i m -
probable to be be-
lieved — and, yet,
they must be
true; he was not
dreaming :

Dear Daddy: I
have so much to
tell you, and I
must make it very

short, or I wont catch the mail. There
was a dreadful wreck of our train, and
the car I was in got the worst of it.
Not a person was saved in that car, ex-
cept myself and a young doctor named
Robert Warren. He pulled me out thru a
window, or I should have been burned to
death. And, daddy, he took me to his
home, which was not far away, and we
are very much in love, and are going to
be married at once, so he can bring me
back home to you, for I cant go on to
school now, after such a shock. I know
you will not object, when you see him —
they are the loveliest people. His mother
is the sweetest woman in the world — her
name is Beatrice. Isn't it strange, their
name being Warren, just like ours?

With heaps of love,

Minna..

PAUL FINDS ZELMA AND HER BABE

"Going to be married at once,"
Paul groaned, dropping the letter. ' ' I
must stop it ; I must hurry — suppose I
should be too late ? I must tell her —
and Beatrice — that she is his sister!
There is no other way ! Oh, why did
I let her go from me ?"

There was a swift ride to the nearest
railroad station, a telegram sent in ad-
vance, a long, nerve-racking ride on a
fast express, and Paul Warren was
walking up the wooded path, toward
the home he had left more than twenty
years before. Old
memories swept
over him, flood-
ing his heart with
yearning pain.
Ah, the dear old
tlays — the dear
old h o m e — and -
the awful errand
that had brought
him here!

"Jack has my
telegram before
this, ' ' he thought.
"I wonder what
he told them —
did he confess
the truth? Poor
Minna — poor
Beatrice ! And
Jack's son will
suffer^ t is as
Zelma said, his
children must
pay the debt of
his sins."
The house was strangely silent
when he reached it. A young man,
.scarcely more than a boy, was sitting
in the library, his head bowed in his
hands.

"You must be my Uncle Paul," he
said, his voice trembling; "I am so
glad you have come — perhaps you
can advise us. It is so terrible — we
do not know what to do — it seems
impossible to think clearly yet!"
' ' Minna ? ' ' questioned Paul, hastily.
"My mother has her, in her room.
She will comfort and help her, if any
one can ; let them alone for a little
while. You know it is not twenty-
four hours since your telegram came.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

It was just in time — the minister was
here. In five minutes more, she would
have been my wife. Oh, my God — I
loved her so — I love her now!"

He threw himself down in an agony
of tears, and Paul recognized, in this
stricken lad, all the lovable, reckless
traits of Jack. He laid a pitying hand
on the dark head, not trusting his
voice. At last he said: "And your
father?"

"I quite forgot that you did not
know, ' ' Robert re-
plied. "It has all
been so sudden I
hardly know what
I am doing yet.
My father is
. dead."

"Dead! How?"

"By his own re-
volver. Your tele-
gram was given to
him, just as the
wedding was to
begin. Such a
look as came over
his face — it was
terrible. Then he
seemed to go mad.
He turned, and
gave the message
directly to mother.
You can imagine
the effect on us
all. I think I was
stunned a t first.
When I realized
what was happen-
ing, the minister
was helping
Minna and mother
out of the room.

Father was in a chair, wringing his
hands. Over and over he moaned :
'The debt, the debt ! She said that our
children must pay it — ^the debt, the
debt! Suddenly he rushed into his
room; in a moment I heard a shot.
It was all over."

His voice broke again, and there
was a long silence in the room. At
last Robert spoke again.

"Tell me, uncle, what shall we do?
How shall we take up the threads of
life and go on ? Mother understands

all the past now ; she has pieced it all
together: your telegram yesterday,
and what she knew of your going
away, and Minna's story of her dead
mother. She has told me how noble
and good you are. Tell me, now,
what shall we do ? "

"I must take Minna back home;
you must live on liere with your
mother. In time, my boy, the wound
will heal. Perhaps you will be glad
to see Minna as a, loved sister, some
day; if not, your
lives must lie far
apart. We must
go — at once. But
first, let me see
your mother,
alone."

So, as he waited,
faint and trem-
bling with emo-
tion, in the great
west window of
the library, she
came to him. Bea-
trice, fair - haired
and sweet - faced,
as in the olden
days, so fragile
and slender in her
trailing gown of
black. She held
out both her
hands, and, for a
long moment, they
looked deep into
each other's eyes.

"Forgive me for
misjudging you,
long ago," she
said simply. "You
were noble and
self-sacrificing — ^you carried all the
burden, for my sake. I understand
now. It is terrible that these children
must suffer so — terrible that Jack has
died with this burden of sin on his
soul; but, thru all this blackness, the
strength of your devotion will shine
like a golden thread, lighting the
dreary days."

"Some time, when the children's
wounds have healed, may I retui-n?"
"Some time — who knows?" she
answered, a tender mist in her eyes.

'some time WHO KNOWS?"

■'5"
^««.

'/WWi

»c^

WHEN Jack Elwood left his home
and his weeping mother, to
begin a tour of the world, he
was convinced that his heart was
broken. He was not looking forward
to his journey with any enthusiasm —
it was merely a recourse to distract
his melancholy thoughts. He felt that
he should never experience any pleas-
ure in anything again, and as for
women — he was done with them. He
had wasted his love on one of them, so
now he was ready to condemn them
all as selfish and calculating.

As he recalled the incidents that
followed his return home from college,
he could entertain nothing but grati-
tude for his mother's objecting to —
nay, forbidding, under penalty of dis-
inheritance — his marriage to her com-
panion, Susan Lee. Had his mother
yielded to his pleadings and his de-
fiance, the discovery of the girl's
mercenary character would have come
too late.

"And she looked so sweet and
genuine," he murmured, as if excus-
ing his obtuseness. He took from
his pocket her farewell note, and
pondered over it for the hundredth
time since the evening the servant had
brought it to him.

"Dear Jack," he read, below his
breath, so that the driver in front

should not hear, "you will never see
me again. Your mother would disin-
herit you, and I dont intend to marry
a poor man." He tore the note into
bits, which he scattered along the
road. Then, with a sigh, he leaned
back in the padded seat of his car, and
drearily pictured a loveless future.

It was evening in the city of Tokio.
Among the trees, in the garden of the
geisha-houses, lighted lanterns swung
gently in the breeze, and from the
flower-bedecked balconies of the tea-
house came the beat of the lioto, and
the light twanging of the samisen.
Little figures, in gorgeous, embroid-
ered kimonos, flitted gaily about, pos-
turing, dancing, laughing, and singing
in sweet, piping voices. Hara, the
master of the geishas, suddenly ap-
peared among them.

"An honorable guest arrives," he
told them, as he hastened to the gate.

Jack Elwood entered the garden.
Hara met him, with a deep obeisance
and an obsequious indrawing of the
breath. Then, clapping his hands, he
summoned a motisme to bring the ex-
alted stranger a cup of sake, and sent
another, to command the presence of
his star geisha, Taku.

Seated in the garden, with the
weird thrumming and tinkling affect-

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

ing him with a pleasurable sense of
anticipation, Jack forgot, for the
moment, to brood over his broken
heart. Then Taku came, bewitching,
smiling, saucy. She danced for him,
her lithe, young body bending and
swaying, her tiny hands moving in
odd little gestures, her small head,
with its decoration of bright-hued
flowei's, nodding coquettishly. Jack
watched her with growing delight.
He thought her the daintiest bit of
humanity he had ever seen, and, when
the dance was finished, he tried to
tell her so. Taku had little difficulty
in understanding
him, for she was
accustomed to com-
pliments f r m the
English and Amer-
ican visitors. She
modestly concealed
her face behind her
fan, while she
thanked him in
broken English.
They had tea to-
gether, and, under
the spell of her
merriment, the last
vestige of his bitter-
ness vanished.

The next evening,
and the next, foiind
him in the garden,
and, each time, he
returned to his
hotel more haunted
by the flower-like
charm of the little geisha. Then, the
hours began to drag between evening
and evening; he wanted Taku every
minute of the time. Not even the
vision of his proud mother, nor the
memory of his first disastrous affair
of the heart, could stem the tide of his
thoughts, once they had moved, with
his desii-es, toward Taku.

"Suppose she is of a different
race," he argued to himself, "it makes
no difference to me, and it's nobody
else's business. She's adorable — the
sweetest, gentlest, brightest, most
fascinating little girl in the world!
And I'm going to marry her, if Hara
will give her up."

JACK IS REPULSED BY SUSAN

The shrewd Hara had been watch-
ing the infatuation of the handsome,
young American, and he had decided
that he would demand a goodly sum,
should it come to the point where
Jack would ask to marry the geisha.
Taku was his best attraction, and, if
she had kept a cool head and heart, as
was expected of all geishas, he would
not have parted with her for any
amount. But he had noted her eager
watchfulness, as evening drew nigh,
and her delight when the honoi-able
stranger was announced. She was no
longer heart-whole; her value as a
geisha was i m -
paired. So he would
sell her, if the offer
was big enough.

Sooner than he
expected, the impet-
uous young Ameri-
can came to him
with h i s proposal.
Hara sinnilated sur-
prise and reluct-
ance, and, finally,
named a large sum
to release Taku from
bondage. Jack in-
stantly closed the
bargain, and Hara
trotted away to
fetch Taku.

"The august
foreigner will wed
me?" she asked, in-

credulously.

"Why not?" ex-
claimed Hara, indignantly. "Have
not our own lofty ones, with illus-
trious ancestors, wedded with geishas ?
Thou art as beautiful and dazzling as
Amaterasu, and thy ancestors were of
the honorable nanivrai. Hasten!" he
urged, throwing back the sliding
screens, and drawing her into the
room where Jack was waiting.

She took a few little steps toward
Jack, then stopped, overcome with
embarrassment. He took her hand,
and removed the fan from her face.

"Did Hara tell you, little blossom,
that I want you for my wife?"

"Yes," she murmured, "and, in all
things, I will be obedient to my lord."

MISS TAKU OF TOKIO

Jack laughed. "I dont want
obedience, Taku; I want love. Can
you give me that?"

"Yes," she said softly, nodding
her charming head. "I will love my
noble lord for all of this life, and all
the lives yet to come. ' '

A year passed, and Taku was the
happiest, gayest of little wives and
mothers. The beautiful home that
Jack had fitted up for her, had never
ceased to be a source of interest and

unusual and precocious child in the
world. Jack was still in the thrall of
Japan, and, in the happiness and love
of Taku, he found life very sweet.
But it had occurred to him, re-
peatedly, that he should have in-
formed his mother of his marriage.
His conscience had grown especially
insistent since the baby's arrival. So,
at last, he decided, boldly, to break
the news, and to satisfy a feeling of
homesickness that had been creeping

JACK FINDS A NEW SWEETHEART IN JAPAN

wonder. After the simplicity, almost
bareness, of the tea-house, the beau-
tiful rooms, with their lacqiier-pan-
eled Avails, golden matting on the
flooi-s, covered here and there with
liandsome rugs, pearl and ivory-inlaid
furniture, and screens that were
exquisite works of art, held, for
her, a constant fascination and en-
joyment.

And, then, there was the baby,
Mino, rosy, dimpled, briglit-eyed.
Taku idolized him, and had quite con-
vinced Jack that they had the most

upon him, by returning to America.
Not wishing to shock his mother by
too complete a surprise, he wrote
briefly, preparing her for his return
with his wife and child. He could not
forego the malicious pleasure of
pandering to the old lady's patrician
foibles by adding : " I have married a
lady of ancient lineage. ' '

Taku was all in a flutter of excite-
ment, and misgiving, over the pros-
pective journey. Suppose the baby
should be taken ill, suppose the honor-
able mother-in-law should not "like

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

her ! Jack laughed at her fears, and,
such was her confidence in her big
husband, that, Avhen the little party
sailed, she looked forward, with the
pleasure of a child, to the moment
when she could place in its grand-
mother's arms the wonderful baby.

If Jack, after several weeks of con-
tact with Occidentals during the
voyage and the railway jovirney, had
begun to question the outcome of this
visit to his old home, he kept his
doubts to himself. As they neared
their destination, all his efforts were
directed toward cheering up Taku,
for her confidence was fast oozing
away. The bigness
of the new country
oppressed her. She
clasped little Mino
tight in her arms,
and looked, with
startled eyes, at
the imposing
homes they passed,
as they whirled
over the road in
El wood's car, that
had met them at
the station. The
car drew up to the
house, and a foot-
man came out to
assist the travelers.

"Oh, I am
afraid!" gasped
Taku, clinging to
Jack.

"Nonsense!" he
laughed nervously
about her
my son."
ingly to
house.

Mrs. Ehvood had thought to make
Jack's homecoming an event, by invit-
ing a number of his old friends to
dinner. They were assembled in the
drawing-room when Jack and Taku
entered. Hidden, for a moment, as
Mrs. El wood clasped her boy in her
arms, the little wife shrank from the
eyes that met hers, as Jack turned,
and led her before his mother.

He removed the cape and hood, that
covered Taku from head to foot. As

putting an arm
'Here, Jenkins, you carry
' Then, whispering reassur-
Taku, he led her into the

the picturesque little figure was dis-
closed, a look of horror sprang to the
mother's eyes.

"Surely, siirely," she stammered,
"this is not .your wife!"

"Yes, mother," answered Jack,
firmly, defying the disapproving eyes
of the guests, "this is my wife, and"
— indicating the baby in the foot-
man's arms — "tliis is my child."

Mrs. Elwood gave tiie merest glance
in the direction of the infant, and
Taku, her heart freezing within her,
clung to Jack, appealingly.

"Your wife will, probably, like to
go to her room immediately," sug-
gested Mrs. El-
wood, coldly.

"Yes, yes!"
assented Taku,
eagerly, trembling
at the unfriendly
glances bent upon
her.

Alone in her
r o m — a great,
hostile room it
seemed to her —
she laid the
slighted Mino
upon the bed, and
knelt beside him.

"They would
not deign to look
at the honorable
'baby - san ! " she
whispered bitter-
ly. "These lofty
ones may despise
me — that I understand, for they are
proud, and I was but a geisha. But
the honorable child is the son of the
esteemed Mr. Elwood, and they should
have done him honor!"

She would not go down to dinner
with Jack ; she remained in her room
all evening, and fretted and brooded
over her insignificance in the eyes of
the "lofty ones" downstairs.

As the days went by, poor little
Taku was left much to herself. Her
mother-in-law ignored her and little
Mino completely, while, seeminglj^,
exerting herself to draw Jack away
from his wife. Jack was, at first, very
tender and considerate, and assured

PBEPAELNG MINO FOR THE LONG
JOURNEY

MISS TAKV OP TOKIO

SI'

Taku that his mother and friends
would accept his wife as soon as they
had become accustomed to the idea of
associating with one of her race. But,
probably unremarked by himself, he
left her more and more to herself, and
became absorbed in the pastimes from
which she was shut out.

"Perhaps if I wear clothes like
theirs, ' ' she suggested, piteously, ' ' the
exalted ones will not despise me so. ' '

"A good idea!" responded her hus-

evening's merrymaking, she robed
herself in her flowered kimono,
gathered together her store of money
and jewels, strapped the baby on her
back, and left, on the desk in her
room, these few words:

Honored Hu.sband: I gfi back to my
people. It was all a mistake. Please
forget. Taku.

Then she went softly down the car-
peted stairs, and out into the night.

J.iCK S MOTHER REFUSES TO BE RECONCILED

band. "Get yourself some American
clothes."

However, the new apparel failed to
work the expected change, and lit'tle
Taku was utterly discouraged and
unhapp.y. Her face grew pale and
thin, and the American clothes ill
suited her type of exotic beauty. The
situation, at last, became unbearable,
for she felt that Avith the eclipse of
her charms had disappeared her hus-
band's love. So, one night, when he
had gone with a gay party, for an

The next morning, when her flight
was discovered, Mrs. Elwood made no
attempt to conceal her relief. Jack,
after the flrst shock and anxiety, took
a philosophical view of the occurrence.
It was, probably, the best way out of
it. He had been pulled two ways, in
trying to please his mother, at the
same time indulging his own pleasure-
loving nature, and in making dutiful
attempts to give some of his time to
Taku. Now he would be free — and
back in Japan, well provided for by

TBE MOTION PICTURE STOKY MAGAZINE

his foresight, she would be in a har-
monious environment, and would re-
cover her looks and her happy disposi-
tion. So, comfortably rocking his
conscience to sleep, he plunged into
wilder gaieties.

But there is nothing more treacher-
ous than a dormant conscience. It
bides its time, and, when its possessor
is most wretched, and is savoring the
unpalatable facts of boredom and
discontent, it springs up broad awake,
and stabs and stabs. So Jack Elwood
found. He had exhausted every phase
of dissipation, and, now that the
superficial and vicious pleasures of
life palled, his con-
science had a trick
of unexpectedly
bringing before
him a vision of the
neglected Taku
and the honorable
baby-san. After a
night at the card-
table, he wandered
into the garden, in
the early dawn. A
slight breeze
rippled over the
grass and thru the
trees. With his
head buzzing
from sleeplessness,
he seemed to hear
the tinkre of wind-
bells. Then he
could have sworn

that the thrumming of the koto and
the twanging of the samisen were in
his ears, and that from the shadows of
a feathery fir-tree, a little figure, in a
gorgeous kimono, advanced toward
him. He rose, with outstretched
arms. " Taku !" he cried. But there
was nothing there but the drifting
mist of dawn and the gentle breeze
rippling by. Dazed, he hurried to the
house. He called up one of the
servants, and ordered him to pack,
immediately, sufficient clothing for a
long journey. The thrall of the
"Flowery Kingdom" was upon him
again, and the charm of his little
Taku was luring him back to her.

JACK RETURNS TO TAKU

In her beautiful home in Tokio, a
sad little mother sat, with her baby
in her arms. Now and then she
picked up her samisen, and, touching
the strings, sang to him a little song
of her own composing. It told of one
who had ceased to love her, but whom
she would love thru this life and all
the lives to come. The wonderful
baby, Mino, gurgled in delight, and
Taku smiled, fondly, into his twink-
ling, black eyes. The curtains in the
doorway parted, and Jack looked in.
Taku still crooned to the baby, not
hearing the quiet step behind her.
Then, Jack sank to his knees, at her
side. Startled, she
drew away from
him, and hard
lines appeared in
her sufiiering little
face.

' 'Taku !" he
cried, penitently,
' ' I have come back
to you. I am so
sorry your heart
was wounded. I
have been very un-
happy, and I want
you and Mino to
love me again!"

"Until some
lofty ones again
despise us ? ' '
asked Taku, indig-
nantly.

"If the lofty
ones despise you, they must despise
me, too," he answered, "for I am
going to stay right here with you —
if you will let me."

Such humility from her husband
melted little Taku's anger. "Oh, my
august lord!" she exclaimed. "If you
may! Did not my vows bind me to
obedience and devotion for all of this
life?"

He took her in his arms, and
pressed her to his heart.

"For all of this life?" he asked.
"And all the lives to come," she
answered, solemnly.

"Yes, all the lives to come," he
echoed, fervently.

Their Power

By GEORGE B. STAFF

The Photoshow, the Photoshow,

Where countless thousands spend an hoar;
How rapidly they thrive and grow,

For they possess the wondrous power
Of moving hearts to joy or tears,
And they shall prosper with tlie years !

Pictures

By OTTIE E. COLBURN

There are pictures good,

There are pictures bad.
There are pictures gay,

There are pictures sad,
There are pictures right.

There are pictures wrong.
There are pictures short,

There are pictures long,

There are pictures dim,

There are pictures bright.
There are pictures "heavy,"

There are pictures light.
There are pictures quick,

There are pictures slow —
Oh! you see all kinds

At the Picture Show.

\
»

From Over the Sea

By FRANIC W. STERNS

The' scenes av me choildhood, th' cot I was born in.
Came forninst me this night ; faith, I knov 'twas no drame,

An' me hoart sang f r Joy whin, wldout an» ;/ warnin', .
Me darlint, ould mother to mate me she ime.

She sthepped from tb' doorway, her smile soft and tinder.
As it was on the day we said good-by in tears ;

An' I saw, whin I looked in th' ould cabin winder.
Th' light that's been bumin' for me all these years.

I called her swate name — fast th' glad tears were flowln',
I stretched forth a hand to th' vanishin' scene !

Her eyes caressed mine — it was me she was knowin' —
She smiled — then was gone from th' dear picthur' screen !

Winter

By L. M. THORNTON

Cold, did you say, and Jack Frost coming?
1 know the way where bees are humming.
Let's watch the flowers in beauty springing.
Or birds thru bowers their courses winging.

Drear, did you say, with snowflakes falling?
Let's go and play the quails are calling.
I know a place where rivers glisten.
And summer sings, if you but listen.

Sad, did you say, and winter-weary?
I know the way where all is cheery ;
Where picture films can make .vou Jolly
And picture-play ends melancholy.

THE face of each Mian in the card-
room stood out sharply in the
brilliant light from clusters of
electric bulbs on the side walls.

At the center table sat the Honor-
able James Oakley and Vincent
Black, leaders of the smartest coterie
in the Cocoa Tree Club, which, for a
century, had been the most exclusive
in London's West End. At the mas-
sive mahogany table, covered with
soft, green felt, sat two other men,
engaged in the after-theater game of
whist with Oakley and Black.

"Shall I play, partner?" asked
Vincent Black, a tall, rather raw-
boned Englishman, so accustomed to
formal clothes that he would have
looked ridiculous in a business suit.

"Pray do," James Oakley replied
mechanically, his mild, blue eyes
acquiring an intense look as he
glanced at the fellow on his right, a
loud-talking chap who had recently
been admitted to the Cocoa Tree
because of his family connections.

As Oakley played, his lithe, slight
body became tense with interest, and
several times he passed his hand over
his face nervously, and toyed with a
plain gold c-est ring on his little
finger as he watched, narrowly, the
uncouth player on his right.

Suddenly, as the man took a trick
unfairly, James Oakley threw his
remaining cards face up on the table,
and pushed back his chair, his cheeks
drawn and white.

"I prefer not to play with a
cheat!" he exclaimed, with an even-
ness of temper and display of self-
control which his father had passed
on to him from a long line of trained
gentlemen.

The man at his right grew very
red. ' ' You 're a cheat, yourself ! ' ' he
cried, rising to his legs, a little
unsteady from over-indulgence in
wine.

Oakley's eyes snapped; he sprang
at the man's throat, slapped his
l^ulpy, red face with his open hand,
and hurled him violently backward.
The card-cheat swayed, stumbled, fell
across a chair, and toppled, a
whirling mass of arms and legs, down
the long, polished stairway leading to
a dining-room on the floor below.

Oakley, paralyzed with sudden
fear, rushed down the steps just as
the cheat's head crashed against the
newel-post. The body quivered con-
vulsively, and settled down in a
heap.

Vincent Black pushed his friend, ,
Oakley, away from the body, and felt, .

THE NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICER

fumblingly, thru the clothes for a
)ieart-beat.

' ' Dead ! " he cried, turning to Oak-
ley, who stood, with slack hands,
looking on, his eyes vivid with pain.

"Come — let's get out of this!" ex-
claimed one of the older members, who
had rushed down to the excited group
about the body. "You'll not run the
chance of imprisonment for this
worthless fellow. Black!" he mo-
tioned quickly to Oakley 's companion,
"as quick as you can. Let's get him
out of here. ' '

Together they rushed Oakley to the

violence, but, finally, he came to look
upon the affair as an unavoidable
accident. Purposely, he did not read
the London papers, and, for over a
month, he lived the life of a modest
gentleman of leisure in Paris, care-
fully avoiding those popular cafes
where he might meet traveling Eng-
lishmen.

One day he picked up a French
newspaper, and read the startling
news that the victim of an unpro-
voked assault in a London club was
dying in a hospital; his life had
lingered all these weeks. But, as for

O.AKLEY JOINS THE FRENCH ARMY

check-room, bundled him into his
top-coat, and pushed his silk hat on
his head. Then Black took him alone
in a cab to the nearest railwa.y station.

"A first-class ticket to Paris," he
requested of the ticket-seller, and
before Oakley fully realized what had
happened, he found himself alone in
a compartment of a train bound for
Paris, Black's farewell words echoing
in his ears: "Dont come back! Live
in Prance! I'll stay here and
straighten things out for you. We'll
meet again some day, old man. Take
good care of yourself, and forget this
accident. ' '

For weeks James Oakley could not
forget the scene in the club. His
breeding had taught him to dislike

Oakley, he hesitated no longer; he
impulsively joined the French army,
and immediately lost his identity in
the baggy flannel uniform of red and
blue with which he was furnished.

He was sent to the Soudan in a
transport with a detaehiiient under
Colonel de Belleehosse, and idled for
months in barracks before getting
into an active engagement. Mean-
while, he perfected his French, be-
came proficient at fencing, and gained
popularity among the non-commis-
sioned officers, working iip to the
position of sergeant by excelling at
drill.

Then, one day, his company was
ordered to the frontier, where trouble
awaited the French. On the morning

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORT MAGAZINE

following their arrival, Colonel de
Belleehosse's detachment engaged in
a sharp preliminary skirmish, and
Oakley, having little to live for,
threw himself headlong into the
battle with that perfect disregard of
caution which has distinguished, and
saved the life of, many a great army
officer.

Colonel de Bellechosse, mounted on
a fiery Arabian horse, directed the
encounter from a position well in the
rear, until, irritated by the tricky
methods of the savage enemy, he led a
bold charge
against them in
person. Oakley,
his men scattered,
followed across
the field, close be-
hind his Colonel,
leaping ahead of
the less zealous
Frenchmen, and,
finally, finding
himself cut off
from there-
mainder of his
company, with a
handful at the
Colonel 's side.
He had emptied
his gun, and had
no time to reload ;
the wily natives
were rushing the
Colonel, slashing
with long, curved
s w r d s at the

Colonel's small bodyguard, and try-
ing to get at the French Ic^ader. The
Colonel's horse went down. Oakley
charged the enemy with his bayonet ;
all the savage that had lingered be-
neath his calm, cultivated exterior
came to the surface, and he fought
furiously, recklessly, felling a dozen
men, and reaching the Colonel's side
just in time to run thru, with his
bayonet, a villainous, big negro
leveling an old-fashioned pistol at the
army officer.

The Colonel's detachment rallied,
and soon swept to his aid. The
natives retreated. Colonel de Belle-
chosse, in the flush of victory, found

OAKLEY SAVES THE LIFE OF THE
COLONEL

time to clasp Oakley's hand in the
open field, and thank him, before
the regiment, for his distinguished
sei'vice.

When the company had returned to
camp. Colonel de Bellechosse sent for
Oakley, who limped, painfully, to the
executive tent, bearing a dozen band-
ages, and received, gratefully, the
profuse thanks of the Frenchman.

"I had my eye on you thru the
smoke," exclaimed the Colonel. "Not
many men fight as you did. I have
saved myself from many narrow
squeezes, but you
saved me today."
The Colonel
paused, and sur-
veyed Oakley
thoughtfully. Fi-
nally he con-
tinued: "The
trouble here will
soon be over. We
will be ordered
back to barracks
in Paris within a
week. You wont
enjoy life in bar-
racks as an officer
without a com-
mission ; you
w o n t have the
opportunity to
mingle with the
kind of people to
which I can see
you are accus-
tomed. I need a
secretary — if you like, I will appoint
you."

"I should appreciate it very
much," answered Oakley, promptly.

Within a week the troops were
back in Paris, and, in his new posi-
tion, the Britisher found many ad-
vantages. He was thrown into the
company of scintillating Frenchmen,
and, gradually, took on most of the
Colonel's social duties.

At a splendid military ball, he met,
for the first time, the Colonel's
daughter, Louise, and was attracted
by her princessly bearing and pi-
quant, French manner more certainly
than he had ever been attracted to

THE NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICER

any other woman. He danced with
her, and flattered himself that he had
succeeded in interesting the girl.

After the ball, Colonel de Belle-
chosse happened to mention to
Oakley, jn a reflective mood, that
Lieutenant de Berg, of a prominent
military family, was a suitor for
Louise's hand, and that he had high
hopes for the match.

This confidence did not deter Oak-

Oakley found himself seated beside
Louise in a corner of the garden, lit
with thousands of soft electric bulbs.
Both were oblivious to the gay throng
near them. Oakley looked into the
girl's eyes, and saw in them a new
light. Their friendship had suddenly
blossomed into intimacy, or some-
thing better, he thought.

"I wish I had been boi-n a French-
man," Oakley said slowly. "I've

DE BERG DECLARES HIS LOVE TO LOUISE

ley, however, from improving his
acquaintance with Louise. He found
many excuses which took him to his
superior oiYieer's home, and, within a
few months, he was invited to in-
formal dinners by the Colonel, and
made much of in private, in spite
of the fact that he was a non-
commissioned officer.

Oakley missed no social function at
which Louise was likely to be present.
His fascination finally became a pas-
sion. One summer night, at a splendid
formal dance in the Colonel's house,

become a Frenchman already — at
heart."

"And isn't the heart most im-
portant of all?" she asked softly,
shyly, her eyes cast down.

"Yes; it is with me. At heart I
am French, and it is because of you."

"Because of me? But I dont
understand!" she bi-eathed quickly,
raising her glowing eyes to his.

"Yes," he said, leaning impulsively
toward her, and wishing they were
really alone in the world; "you have
made me feel that I want to be truly

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

French, so you will understand me
fully. I want to be like — well, like
what you want me to be." His tone
was very boyish, and he looked at her
with serious, big eyes.

"Oh," she cried, with a thrill, "I
like you because you are English."

' ' Oh, if I were only French I could
tell you why I like yoii," he cried.
"If I were French I would know
how to make love better than the

standing near them, near enough to
have overheard their words. As
Oakley's eyes met his, the French-
man's white face expressed smoulder-
ing rage. He turned abruptly, his
hand instinctively reaching toward
his sword.

"But, Louise, dear, how about de
Berg?" breathed Oakley, turning
back to the girl, who sat with lips
musingly open.

DE BERG DISCOVERS THAT LOUISE HAS ANOTHER SUITOR, IN THE
PERSON OF OAKLEY

blunt, British way. Listen, Louise ; I
love you because you are yourself,"
he finished fervently.

A faint flush burned in her cheeks ;
she clasped her hands, and drew a
sharp breath. "I, too, like you for
the same reason," she admitted, at
length.

Oakley quivered with emotion. He
reached out to take her hand, sud-
denly recollected that he was in plain
sight of onlookers, and drew back
sharply, looking about him anxiously.
A tall, slim, young French officer was

She quivered with his first term of
endearment, and her eyes fluttered
up to his. "He is papa's choice; not
my own," she murmured lnusicallJ^

"Ah, my darling Louise! If I
could only tell you how much I love
you!" Oakley was wild to catch her
hands in his, to hug her close to him.

"You dont have to, dear," she
said softly; "I can read it in your
eyes."

"And it is repeated in yours,
sweetest little girl in the " Oak-
ley's sentence was cut short by the

TTIE NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICER

clanking arrival of Colonel de Belle-
chosse, who asked the pleasure of a
dance with his daughter, in courtly
terms.

Oakley, his whole being aflame
with love, darted down a path,
determined to take a long walk, to
dream of his love and Louise.

As he stepped into a deserted, rose-
covered cross-path, Lieutenant de
Berg slipped silently to his side,
and remarked, in a voice of re-
strained rage: "I will walk with you,
mor^sieur."

Oakley and de Berg walked down
the path together. The moment they

"My seconds will wait upon yours,
monsieur, at the Hotel de Triomphe,
tomorrow at nine. They can arrange
all details." Lieutenant de Berg
handed Oakley a crisp card that
glistened white in the street light, and
turned down a winding boulevard.

Oakley walked straight on, alone.
Half an hour before, he had been
radiantly, exuberantly hopeful be-
cause Louise returned his love. Now,
he was in despair. It seemed to him
that love was not the exclusive affair
of two people in Prance. Besides the
Lieutenant's opposition, Oakley was
a non-commissioned officer, a fugitive

THE DUEL

were out of earshot, the superior
officer burst out: "I overheard to-
night — about Louise. Perhaps you
dont understand French etiquette — I
will teach you. Will you fight with
the sword or the pistol?"

In a flash, Oakley understood. It
was a challenge.

' ' I shall waive my rank, ' ' continued
the Lieutenant, excitedly. "Either I
withdraw from the field, or you.
Which weapon do you prefer?"

"Oh," exclaimed Oakley, "if you
demand blood, let it be blood. Your
choice of weapons is my choice."
Tho uneasj' at the thought of a duel,
Oakley was now thoroly angry with
the Frenchman, who could not win a
girl's heart, but could gain only her
father's approval.

from his own country, with disgrace
hanging over his head, and, without a
fortune and standing, he could never
expect the Colonel to accept him as
a sori-in-law, even if Louise loved
him.

Seized with despair, he sank down
in a chair at a sidewalk cafe fre-
quented by Englishmen, and ordered
brandv. He had not been so indis-
creet as to show himself at such a
popular place since leaving London,
but now he thought nothing of tliat,
and sat, in his French uniform,
slumped over his glass of liquor,
thinking dismally of the dawn.

The fixed gaze of a gentleman
sitting at a table opposite finally
caused Oakley to look up. He found
himself staring into the wondering

100

THE MOTION PICTURE 8T0BY MAGAZINE

eyes of his old comrade, Vincent
Black, who had helped him out of
England.

With outstretched hands, Oakley
rushed toward him, repeating, un-
consciously, in French: "Monsieur
Black, Monsieur Black! of all
people!"

"I thought it was you," cried
Black, pressing his hand firmly, "but
I couldn't be sure. That uniform,
that coat of tan. Why, you even
talk French."

The reunited friends sat until
almost morning, talking excitedly of
their experiences since parting. And,
with the dawn. Black slapped Oakley
heartily on the shoulder, crying: "A
man who's to fight a duel must be
fresh. I'll see de Berg's seconds at
the hotel this morning, and, as for
you, go to sleep."

The duel was arranged to take
place at sunrise on the following day,
in a lonely field on the outskirts of
town — a field partly hidden from the
road by a row of pines.

Pistols had been decided upon, and
Vincent Black, after examining the
arms provided by de Berg's seconds,
gave the word that his man was
ready.

The duellists met in the center of
the vacant field, their backs to one
another. A gentleman in severe
black, with the manner of an under-
taker, cried: " One-two- three- four ! "
and the opponents wheeled, and fired
upon each other with almost a single
report of the pistols.

An instant later, de Berg's right
arm fell to his side, shattered, and his
weapon, belching smoke, dropped to
the grass.

The duel was over. Oakley had
won.

A pair of men in uniform were
spied by one of the seconds, skulking
along the road at that moment.

"You had better not go back to
barracks," cried de Berg, accepting
his defeat like a gentleman, and
hardly wincing as the doctor bound
the tiny hole in his fractured arm.
"The regiment will hear of this, and
you will be court-martialed for breach

of discipline for duelling with a
superior oflScer. It's for your good
I'm suggesting it."

"Yes, yes!" Oakley breathed, im-
petuously, "but I must see Louise
first!"

He was whisked from the field by
Black as rapidly as he had been
packed off to Paris the night of the
trouble at the club.

Black insisted on Oakley's return
to London at once. He argued that
he could resume his old life, and that
his father was failing in health. He
assured him again and again, too,
that the club members had silenced
the gambling scandal, and that the
card-cheat had finally recovered.

But Oakley broke from him and
rushed boldly to the Colonel's house,
tho he was unaccustomed to call so
early, even in his secretarial capacity.

He found Louise alone in the
morning-room, having just finished
breakfast.

"Louise, my darling!" he cried,
drawing up a low settee, and sit-
ting beside her, clasping her hands,
"I have won from de Berg! — this
morning only. Ah, precious, the sun
shines sweet on victories like mine. I
am free to tell you now how much I
love you, adore you, worship you, my
darling." He talked rapidly at first,
in eagerness, finally lingering over
the last words.

She smoothed back his damp hair
dreamily, drinking deep of his ardent
words.

"And I, too, love you, mon cher,
mon petit!" she cried, timidly bury-
ing her head on his shoulder.

He caught her in his arms, and
hugged her close, straining her to
him, as he had dreamed of doing for
weeks past.

"I love you madly, my darling. I
would risk anything — a hundred
lieutenants — to tell you how sweet
and precious you are to me." He
raised her mouth, and kist her
tremulous lips.

The silence of love ensued.

Suddenly a sharp ejaculation sur-
prised the pair. They sprang to their
feet and faced Colonel de Bellechosse,

TEE NdU-COMMiSSldNED OFFICER

161

purple with rage. He stared steadily,
scornfully at them, and then, sud-
denly, in his sternest military manner,
ordered Oakley to return to barracks,
and report at his quarters in half an
hour.

Oakley withdrew without a word,
returning to barracks like a faithful
soldier, and refusing to recall Lieu-
tenant de Berg's and Black's advice
to flee and avoid consequences.

It is the recommendation of the court
that James Oakley be sentenced to five
years' imprisonment for breach of disci-
pline in fighting a duel with a superior
oflScer.

V. De Forest,

Presiding Ofllcer.

Oakley listened dumbly as the
sentence was pronounced, realizing
that Colonel de Bellechosse's dis-
covery in the morning-room had a

OAKLEY IS ARRESTED

Instead of seeing Oakley when he
appeared at his office, the Colonel
ordered his arrest, and Oakley was
dragged to the military jail thru the
barracks square, where his comrades
were idling.

That afternoon he was court-mar-
tialed on the evidence of two common
soldiers who had witnessed the duel
from the road.

The decision of the military referee
read:

great deal to do with the severity of
the sentence.

Probably he could have reduced
the term if he had been willing to
admit the cause of his duel, but on
that subject his lips remained closed.

While in prison he learnt from
Black, who was allowed to visit him
occasionally, that Lieutenant de Berg
had been transferred to another post,
by way of reprimand.

A month later, Black came to the

102

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAOAZWE

prison with glowing face, and cried,
the moment he saw Oakley: "I've
managed to get de Berg to write a
letter. I think I shall succeed in
having you released. " He showed the
following document with pride: "I
hereby testify that James Oakley
was in no manner responsible for
the duel. It was entirely at my
instigation. Signed, Lieutenant de
Berg."

Again the gallant French officer
had shown that he was a gentleman,
and, with this letter, and a little polit-
ical pressure which Black brought
to bear, Oakley was finally released.

On the very day that he came from
prison. Black took him to the office of
a Parisian lawyer, who acquainted
him with the fact that he was heir to
a large estate left by his father, and
that he could now claim the title of
Lord Fernborough;

The Englishman, overcome by the
sudden turn in his affairs, went at
once to the office of Colonel de Belle-
chosse, and formally asked for his
daughter's hand.. The Colonel, on
whose sympathies Black had been
working during Oakley's imprison-
ment, refused to discuss the matter,
but gave his permission for Oakley
to call on Louise and tell her of his
release.

Louise sat on the lawn as her father
and her lover approached. She ran
to the arms of Oakley in spite of the
Colonel's flaming eye.
, "I must take Louise back to Eng-
land with me!" cried Oakley, in a
surge of emotion.

"I will not consent — I will not
consent!" the Colonel raged, striding
up and down tlie lawn with hands
clasped tightly "behind his back.'

"But, papa," pleaded Louise, re-
moving her arms from Oakley, to
throw them about her father, "you
only wanted me to marry Lieutenant
de Berg because he had prospects.
James," and she pronounced the
name so quaintly that Oakley wanted
to hug her again on the spot — "has
inherited a large estate. Dont you
remember the days of the Soudan?
You've told me so often of how he
saved your life. That was what first
made me love him, even before I saw
him." She looked shyly toward
Oakley, who stepped to her side and
pressed her hand.

Colonel de Bellechosse looked down
into his daughter's pleading face.

"That is not the only occasion on
which Sergeant Oakley was brave,"
he said slowly, his face very red. "He
fought a duel for you, you must
remember." It was evident that the
mention of Oakley's estate had altered
the old man's decision, and that he
was glad to be reminded of the
Englishman's bravery.

"Then you give your consent?"
cried Louise, returning the pressure
of Oakley's hand.

"With all my heart," answered
the Frenchman, courteously, saluting
Louise on the forehead, and he stood
wiping the tears from his stern, old
face as Louise and Oakley, unabashed,
exchanged a long, sweet kiss of success
before him.

•^•^c*

The Photoplayeis

Tliey give tbe wide world pleasure,
Give it freely, without measure,

Everywhere.
Into lives all sad and weary,
Into places dark and dreary

They bring cheer.

Oft, you know, the world goes badly.
And some heart is aching sadly

Every day.
Watching them, the troubles vanish.
With their smiles they quickly banish

Them away.

Sometimes, when our fun they're making,
Their own hearts are almost breaking

Down with rare.
But we never know their sadness,
They have only smiles and gladness

For us here.

And we hope that in life's gloaming,
When to each there comes the closing

Of the show,
All the lives that they have brightened.
All the weary ways they've lightened.

They may know.

LONG before this story has point or
place of beginning, a gj'psy car-
avan made its jolting way along
a country road in high summer.
Beneath one of the carts was slung a
sort of hammock, often filled with
pots and pans, now bellying with a
soft lump of a sleeping child — a little
girl in her third summer.

The end of the hammock unfast-
ened, and the child slid softly onto the
road. The caravan jolted on, over a
hill ; the child still slept.

Presently she awoke in the sun, and
set up a soft, calling cry, wliich the
wind, in the whispering ashes, took
up, and carried over the hollow.

The child's call traveled as far as
two horsemen in the fashionable red-
ingotes and soft, spurred boots of
gentlemen. The elder, a man in his
prime, with clear-cut Roman features
under quick, gray eyes, turned his
horse's head toward the call. The
child heard the click and chink of
hoofs against stones, and was still.

The riders neared her standing in
the hollow, like a speck in the bottom
of a bowl. The younger dismounted
and pulled her pudgy fists away from
her eyes.

It was then that the gray-eyed rider
noted two coal-black, fathomless eyes,
so big with tears and wonderment
that they seemed half a face, staring
up at him. At his gesture, his com-
panion swung the child across his
saddlebow:' a child, and tears and
wonder were amusing things in the
Avorld of these two. The younger
laughed merrily; the elder permitted
a smile to cross his small, even teeth.

They turned, and rode back, leav-
ing the country road as blank and
sightless a story as of an hour ago.

"It is given to me, Alexander
Ogilvy, the schoolmaster of Glen
Inharity, to take iip this story and
carry it to an ending.

' ' It was on a warm autumn Sunday
that the little minister preached his
first sermon, and intoned the Para-
phrases, for the congregation of the
Auld Licht Church. Little was
known of Gavin Dishart and his
mother, Margaret, before their com-
ing to Thrums, save that he was
favorably recommended by the Uni-
versity of Edinburgh, and could
preach you straight in the eyes,
without notes.

103

104

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"A stern sect were the Auld Lichts,
and, had it not been that Mr. Carfrae,
the retiring minister, was grown very
frail, with a habit of shaking as he
walked, as if his feet were striking
against stones, they never would have
called the little minister to his first
parish.

"After the service, when Mr. Car-
frae stood shaking hands with the
Auld Lichts, by Gavin's side, he
accompanied him
to the white
manse house on
the hill.

"'May you
never lose sight
of God, Mr. Dis-
hart,' he said, in
the parlor. 'It is
like a dream.
Only yesterday I
was the young
minister, Mr.
Dishart, and to-
morrow you will
be the old one
bidding good-by
to your succes-
sor. And,' he
added hastily,
'how do you like
Thrums?'

"'They told
me in Glasgow,'
said Gavin, hesi-
tating, 'that I
had received a
call from the
mouth of hell. '

' ' ' Cruel words,
Mr. Dishart, for

our weavers are passionately religious,
yet seltloin more than a day's work in
advance of food. Tho you may have
thought the place quiet today, there
was an ugl.y outbreak two months ago
— the weavers turning on the manu-
facturers for reducing the price of the
wel) — and the square filled with
soldiers, called from Tilliedrum. The
ringleadei-s were seized and sentenced
to jail. Ever since then a watch by
night has been kept on every road
that leads to Thriims. The signal
that soldiers are coming is to be the

BABBIE

blowing of a horn. If you ever hear
that horn, Mr. Dishart, I implore you
to hasten to the square. '

"Mr. Cai'frae, once so brave a
figure, tottered as he rose to go.

" 'I begin,' Gavin said, as they
were parting, ' where you left off. My
prayer is that I may walk in your
ways. '

"A week passed — days in which
the new Auld Licht minister was seen
on his rounds in
the town, a n d
then a second
Sunday came for
him to test all his
firmness.

"It seems that
Jo Cruickshanks,
the atheist, had
got Rob Dow, the
big poacher,
cursing, roaring
drunk, and had
escorted him to
the Auld Licht
Church.

"Gavin Dis-
hart stopped his
sermon at the
sight of him.
' Come forward, '
he said to -Rob.

' ' Rob gripped
the pew to keep
h i 111 s e 1 f from
obeying.

"■'Come for-
ward!' the little
nunister cried,
'you hulking man
of sin; sit down
on the stair and attend to me, or I'll
step down from the pulpit and run
you out of the house of God.'

"And Rob did, believing him a
giant stepped out of the Bible.

"And now, on the heels of this
conversion, came the fateful night of
the 17th of October, and with it the
strange woman.

"Family worship at the manse was
over, and Gavin was kissing Margaret
good-night, when they heard a timid
knocking. He opened it, to find the
town policeman staring at him,

TEE LITTLE MINISTER

105

" 'You're to go to Rob Dow's
house,' he said, 'and if you're no wi'
him by ten o'clock, he's to break out
again. '

"Gavin knew what this meant — ^he
had feared it — and a brisk walk
brought him to Rob Dow's door.

"Gavin Avent in by the light of a
tree-trunk roaring in tlie fireplace.
"When Rob saw him, he groaned
relief and left his loom. He had been
weaving, his teeth clinched, his eyes
on fire, for seven hours.

' ' Both fell upon their knees. And,
wlien they had
finished, Rob
said: 'I'll drown
mysel' in the
dam rather than
let the d r i n k
master me. '
Gavin took his
hand, and was
gone.

"Now, thei'e is
a path to Cad-
dam called Win-
iL y g h o u 1 , a
straight road in
summer, but
given over to
leaves and pools
at the end of the
year. The little
minister took this
path, for the
mysteiy of the
woods by moon-
light thrilled him. Hard by, on a
bare hill, was the place where the
wild Lindsays, the g.ypsy family,
made their encampment.

"But Gavin thought not of them,
with his fingers close around his
stout staff. It was a faint, high sound,
as of a woman singing, that perplexed
him.

"Presently it rose, sweet and clear,
from out of Windyglioul. The singer
was not fifty yards away, sometimes
singing gleefully, and letting her
body sway lightly as she came dancing
up the path.

"To Gavin, dancing, and singing
unholy music, were devices of the
devil, and he put out his arm to

THE MEETING IN THE WOODS

pronounce sentence upon her. But
she passed quickly by — he saw only a
short, green skirt, the flash of bare
feet, and a twig of rowan berries in
her black hair.

" 'Woman!' he called sternly after
her.

' ' She turned, and laughed with her
shoulders, and seemed to beckon him
on and mock him, but, on his taking to
running after her, she sang the more
gleefully, and slid into the thickness
of the trees.
"And then, suddenly, he lost the
power to move.
He had heard a
hoi'n — the signal
that soldiers were
coming. Thrice it
sounded, each
time striking him
to the heart.

"He took to
running blindly
toward Thrums,
the admonition
of Mr. Carfrae
about the soldiers
dancing in his
brain and tug-
ging at his wind.
"As Gavin
reached the
schoolwynd, the
town drum be-
gan to beat. A
weaver whom he
tried to stop
struck hira savagely and sped past to
the square. Gavin followed him.

"Women were screaming from
Avindows, or crying softly, and on
the steps of the town-house about
fifty weavers were gathered, many of
them scantily clad, but all armed with
pikes and staves. An old, worn-out
soldier was adjuring them.

"Gavin ran up the steps, and, in a
moment, they had become a pulpit.

" 'Dinna dare to interfere, Mr.
Dishart,' shrilled the old soldier.

"Gavin cast his eyes over the
armed throng, and oi'dered: "Rob
Dow, William Carmichael, Thomas
Whamond, William Munn, Henders
Ilaggart, step forward.'

106

TUE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"These were all Auld Liehts, and,
when they found that the minister
would not take his eyes off them, they
all obeyed.

"Then the minister, who was shak-
ing with excitement, tho he did not
know it, stretched forth his arms for
silence.

" '0! Thou who art the Lord of

be catehed like a mouse in a trap.'
She mounted the steps.

" 'The sojers are coming,' she
warned, ' f rae the Tilliedrum road. '

' ' ' Lay down your weapons, ' Gavin
cried, but his power had gone.

" 'The gypsy spoke true,' they
shouted ; ' dinna heed the minister. '

" 'Keep thegither and follow me,'

THE LITTLE MINISTER IS HELD SPELLBOUND BY BABBIE

hosts,' he prayed, 'we are in Thy
hands this night.'

" 'Amen, amen!' echoed to the
sound of weapons in the square.

" 'Whaur's the gypsy?' cried some
one — 'the one who gave us news of
the sojers. '

" 'Here.'

"Gavin saw the crowd open, and
the woman of the Windyghoul came
out of it, and, while he should have
denounced her, he only blinked, for
once more her loveliness struck him
full in the eyes.

" 'If I were a man,' she exclaimed
to the people, 'I wouldna let mysel'

she called, and slipped past him down
the steps, even as he tried to seize her
shoulders.

"The steady tap of feet in tune —
a heavy sound to wives and mothers —
could be plainly heai'd coming down
the road. The square filled with
soldiers, and emptied itself of towns-
folk, amid a shower of clods and
stones.

"Then the tap of feet was heard
from the east end of Thrums. More
soldiers — the weavers were hemmed
in.

"Under command of resolute young
Captain Halliwell, tenement doors

TEE LITTLE MINISTER

107

were smashed in, and frightened men
dragged out to the street, and, thence,
to jail. But .the leaders had escaped,
and Halliwell, in the round room of
the town-house, was not in a good
temper.

" 'Mr. Sheriff,' he was saying, 'the
whole thing has heen a fiasco, owing
to our failure to take them by-
surprise. '

" 'Well, who warned them? It was
a close secret be-
tween you and
me and Lord
Rintoul.'

"'Find the
gj'psy woman,'
ordered the cap-
tain, 'and I will
find your a n -
swer. '

' ' A half-hour
later, the great
door of the room
was flung open,
and two soldiers
thrust the girl
into the room.

'''You can
leave her here, '
Halliwell said
carelessly. 'Three
of us are not
needed to guard
a woman.

' ' The room was
lit by a single
lamp, and the
girl crouched
away from it,
hiding her face
in her hands.

"'Why dont
you look at me?'

began Halliwell, taking her wrists in
his hands.

" 'By Jove!' he said to her freed
face. 'Where did you get those eyes?'

"She did not answer, but quickly
slid a sparkling ring off her finger.

"'If I tell you all,' she said
eagerly, 'will you let me go?'

" 'I may ask the sheriff to do so,'
he said, with an effort at sternness.

" 'You're angry wi' me,' she
sobbed. ' I wish I had never seen you, '

YOU ARE AN EXTRAORDINARY GIRL

" 'I am not angry with you,' he
said gently. 'You are an extraor-
dinary girl.'

"There was silence, save for her
sobs. He paused, and drew near her.
Was she crying? Was she not
laughing at him rather? He grew
red.

"Her hand was on the handle of

the door. Slie was turning it, when

his hand fell on hers so suddenly that

she screamed. He

twisted her

round.

"'Silence!' he
said.

"The sheriff's
step was heard
coming up the
stair. The door
opened, a n d h e
entered. Ashe
did so, the girl
upset the lamp,
and the room was
at once in dark-
ness.

"The captain
gripped her skirt.
" 'Shut the
door. '

"With his free
hand, Halliwell
relit the lamp.
He was grasping
the skirts of the
sheriff's coat.
T here was no
Egyptian.

" 'Open the
door.' But the
door would not
oi>en; the gypsy
had fled, and had
carefully locked it behind her.

"It was now close on to three
o'clock, with the clouds marching past
the moon, when Gavin turned his face
toward the manse. A cordon of
soldiers was posted around the town.

"He fancied that some one was
following him, but was it not only
fancy, in a night of alarms ? In front
of him, he could see the white facings,
like skeletons' ribs, on uniforms in the
road.

108

THE MOTION PICTURE STOR¥ MAGAZINE

"He stopped. So did the imper-
ceptible step back of him.

"Then Gavin turned back — there,
shrouded in a long cloak that con-
cealed even her feet, was the evil
woman. For a moment he had it in
his heart to warn her of the soldiers.
Then a horror shot thru him. She
was stealing toward him. He turned,
and almost ran.

"As he came up with the soldiers,
in the dim light, a little hand touched
his arm from behind.

" 'Stop,' cried a sergeant, and then
Gavin stepped out before him — ^with
the gypsy on his arm.

" 'It is you, Mr. Dishart,' said the
sergeant, ' and your lady ? '

" 'I ' said Gavin.

"His lady pinched his arm. 'Yes,*
she answered, in an elegant English
voice, 'but, indeed, I am sorry I ven-
tured on the streets tpnight. I could
do little, sadly little.'

" 'It is no scene for a lady, ma'am,

but your husband has Did you

speak, Mr. Dishart?'

" 'Yes, I must inf '

" 'My dear,' said the gypsy, 'I
quite agree with you.'

" 'Sergeant,' said Gavin, firmly, 'I
must '

" 'You must, indeed, dear,' said the
Egyptian, 'for you are sadly tired.
Good-night, sergeant.'

" 'Your servant, Mrs. Dishart.
Your servant, sir. '

" 'But ' cried Gavin.

" 'Come, love,' she said, and walked
the distracted minister thru the sol-
diers and up the manse road.

" 'You — ^you — ^woman!' he finally
blurted out. 'Have you no respect
for law and order?'

" 'Not overmuch,' she answered
honestly.

"She read his thoughts. 'It is not
too late,' she said. 'Why dont you
shout to them ? '

"He walked on to the manse gate.

"Good-by,' she said, holding out
her hand; 'if you are not to give me
up.'

" 'I am not a policeman,' said
Gavin, 'but I hope never to see your
face again.'

"The next moment he saw her
walking away. Then she turned.

" 'There are soldiers at the top of
the hill,' she cried. 'I'm going back
to give myself up. '

" 'Stop!' Gavin called, but she
would not until his hand touched her
shoulder.

" 'Why,' whispered Gavin, giddily,
'why — ^why do you not hide in the
manse garden ? '

' ' There were tears in her eyes now.

" 'You are a good man,' she said.
' I like you. '

" 'Dont say that,' Gavin cried in
horror, then hurried from her without
looking at her again.

"Almost with the birth of morning,
the little minister hurried into his
garden. The girl was gone, but on a
garden bench lay the cloak she had
worn, and a spare Bible that he had
dropped in the midst of his reading.

' ' During the day, news came to him
that the Egyptian had inarvelously
escaped the soldiers, in the stolen
cloak of Captain Halliwell, and
Gavin clutched the telltale thing up
and hid it in his attic.

"But of the Bible, there is far
worse to say, for on Sunday, as Gavin
was to preach on Woman, the church
was crowded.

" 'You will find my text,' he had
said in his piercing voice, 'in the
eighth chapter of Ezra.'

"Then he turned the pages of his
Bible, stared hard at them, gave a sort
of groan, and half fell against the
back of the pulpit. He had read these
penciled lines, not written by Ezra:
'I will never tell that you allowed me
to be called Mrs. Dishart before
witnesses. But is not this a Scotch
marriage ? Signed, Babbie, the Egyp-
tian. '

"No snow could be seen in Thrums
by the beginning of the year, tho a
black frost had set in, and every
morning the manse path was beautiful
with spider's threads. Later on, the
shouts of the curlers could be heard,
coming up from Rashie-bog. And
there was a sound of weeping, too, if
any one had listened close, for old

TEE LITTLE MINISTER

109

Nanny Webster, with her brother
sent to jail on the fatal night, was
about to go to the poorhouse.

"She was not of the Auld Lieht
faith, but Dr. McQueen had, in his
rough way, told Gavin of her condi-
tion, and these two drove over to
comfort her, and to fetch her in a
dogcart.

' ' ' There will be broth every day at
the poorhouse,' said Dr. McQueen.

" 'It — it'll be terrible enjoyable,'

" 'Have pity on her, God!' said
Gavin, stretching out his hands.

"An answer came — a strange one —
for the door opened, and the Egyptian
entered.

"Nanny fell to crying at her feet,
and poured out her story in broken
Scotch.

' ' The girl 's arms clasped her. ' How
dare you!' she cried, turning to the
others, with indignation in her eyes,
and they quaked like malefactors.

BABBIE PLEADS THAT NANNY BE NOT SENT TO THE POORHOUSE

said Nanny, and, after a little: 'Are
you sure there's naebody looking?'

"The doctor glanced at the min-
ister, and Gavin rose.

" 'Let us pray,' he said, and the
three went down on their knees.

"They all advanced toward the
door without another word. But, in
the middle of the floor, something
came over her, and she stood there.

" 'It's cruel hard,' muttered the
doctor, ' I knew her when a lassie. '

"Dr. McQueen, very red in the
face, finally explained that Nanny
was not an Auld Licht, and that
money was not forthcoming for her.

" 'Oh! the money,' said the girl,
scornfully, and confidently put her
hand into her pocket. She could
draw out only two silver pieces.

" 'I thought so,' said the doctor.
'Come, Nanny.'

"'Stop!' said the girl, blocking
the door. ' Tomorrow I will bring five

110

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

pounds — no; you meet me at the
Kaims of Cusliie.'

"Dr. McQueen almost sneered, but
Gavin said : ' I will come ; I trust you. '

" 'Be careful,' said the doctor,
buttoning his coat ; 'your every move-
ment is a text in Thrums.'

" 'You forget yourself, doctor,'
said Gavin, sharply, but the doctor
was gone.

" 'Nanny and I are to have a dish

Her kindness, her gayety, her co-
quetry, her movements of sadness had
been a witcli 's fingers, and Gavin was
still trembling under their touch.

"A minister, it is certain, who wore
a smile on his face would never have
been called to the Auld Licht Church,
but Gavin smiled repeatedly. It is
even reported that, on leaving Nan-
ny's hut, he leaped lightly over the
gate, like any ordinary mortal.

BABBIE SENDS THE LITTLE MINISTER FOR A BUCKET OF WATER

of tea,' said the girl. 'Wont you join
us?'

" 'We couldna dare,' spoke up
Nanny, quickly. 'You'll excuse her,
Mr. Dishart, for the presumption ? '

" 'Presumption!' said the girl,
making a face.

"Nevertheless, Gavin did stay,
letting the doctor's warning fall on
the grass as he was ordered to draw a
bucket of water. The girl calling her-
self Babbie, whose signature had
blasphemed his Bible, played upon
him as upon a musical instrument.

"But there was one who had stood
back of the firs in Nanny's garden,
had seen all, and whose heart had
turned to flint against the witcheries
of Babbie. It was Rob Dow, who now
believed himself an instrument of God
to remove the woman out of the little
minister's path.

"It does not become me to relate
the ripening intimacy, which at last
became love, of Gavin and the
strange girl. Their natures were
very dissimilar, yet at the bottom of
each heart, as in a well, there must

THE LITTLE MINISTER

111

have been sweetness, or they never
would have so cleaved together.

"Gavin met her in the dejected firs
of Kaims, with drops of water falling
listlessly from them, and, even then,
he had not decided which of two
women she was at heart. But he came
away with two tokens : the money she
had promised for Nanny, and some-
thing more — a bunch of rowan berries
from her hair, that she, at parting,
had pressed into his hand.

' ' Gavin told himself not to go near
Nanny's hut the following day, but
he went.

' ' He found Babbie struggling to lift
a heavy stone from the well-cover, and
superhuman strength rushed to his
arms as he rolled it away.

' ' ' How strong you are ! ' Babbie
said, with open admiration, but, in his
heart, he felt that he was pitifully
weak.

' ' ' Good-by, ' she said, later, after a
breathless hour together.

"The minister's legs could not have
heard him give the order to march, for
they stood waiting.

" 'The man I could love,' Babbie
went on, not heeding him, 'must not
spend his days in idleness, as the men
I know do; he must be brave; must
take the side of the weak against the
strong •

" 'If you will listen to reason,
Babbie,' cried Gavin, 'I am that
man.'

"Here they suddenly ended, and
found themselves staring at each
other, as if they had heard something
dreadful. Then they turned, and
hurried out of the wood in opposite
directions.

"It must have been the following
night that Gavin, seated in the manse
study with his mother, thought he
detected the flash of lightning, but
there was no thunder.

" 'It is harmless,' he said, going to
the window. Then he drew back as if
struck. 'It is nothing, mother,' he
said, with a forced laugh. 'Let me
light your lamp for you. '

"She kist him good-night, and was
gone. But something had struck him.
It was the flashing of a lantern

against his window, and the face
behind it was Babbie's.

"Only something terrible, Gavin
thought, hurrying out, could have
brought her to him at such an hour.
But, when he had joined her, she was
quite calm.

"In his alarm, he kist her, and she
knew with that kiss the little minister
was hers forever.

"But, of a sudden, she grew shy,
and the words that were on her tongue
sank back into her bosom. Try as he
could, Gavin could find no reason for
her coming.

"She promised to tell him all, at
Nanny's, on the morrow. But the
morrow was Sunday, which Gavin —
poor shepherd — had forgotten.

"At the top of the hill, she took the
lantern from him. 'You must go
back,' she whispered fiercely. 'If you
are seen, all Thrums will be in an
uproar before morning.'

" 'I cannot help that,' said Gavin.
'It is the will of God.'

" 'To ruin you for my sins?'

"'If He thinks fit'

"Then there came a sob, a short
scuffle, and Babbie, with the lantern,
was running down the hill.

"He stretched out his arms, as if
seeking in the dark.

"The church bell was ringing the
next morning as Babbie sat by
Nanny's side. The girl's eyes were
moist.

" 'Babbie,' said the old woman,
suddenly, 'what has come over you?'

" 'Nothing— I think I hear the
bell, ' but she was thinking of how, at
the top of the hill, a weak man had
become strong.

"Later, she wandered out over a
bleak hill, and came to a great slab
called the Standing Stone. Here she
found a little boy, very ragged,
crying.

"She put a hand on his shoulder,
and asked him what he was doing
there.

" 'I'm wishing,' he blubbered; 'it's
a wishing stane.'

" 'And what are you wishing?'

" 'I'm wishing about a woman —

112

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

her that sent my father, Rob Dow, to
the drink. I'm wishing she was in
hell.'

" 'What woman is it?' asked
Babbie, shuddering.

" 'A gypsy woman, who has be-
witched the minister, an' should the
folks know, they'll stane him out o'
Thrums. '

"Babbie held up her hands like a
suppliant.

" 'Stop your tears, laddie,' she
said, 'and run home, for I'm going
away, and Thrums will never see
more of me. '

"Then Babbie went away — the
wondering boy watching her across
the hill.

"In vain did Gavin search for her.
Months passed by, and he went about
his duties with a drawn face that
made folks uneasy when it was stern,
and pained them when it tried to
smile.

"And now comes a certain night in
summer, so momentous that it sets
my heart to beating wildly, and
swings my head dizzily when I think
of it and the little part I had to
play.

"It was about seven o'clock of the
evening, and the Auld Lichts had, set
the night apart for a service of prayer
to break the disastrous drought that
had palsied our fields.

"As I passed thru Caddam woods,
on my way to the service, I could have
sworn I saw the flirt of the Egyptian 's
skirt as she entered Nanny's hut — but
soberer things were on my mind. It
must have been my mentioning of it
to the minister, as we met on the
Thrums road, that turned him so
white, and made him turn back. But,
again, I thought nothing of it.

"The church bell was ringing as I
entered, and Thomas Whamond stood,
watch in hand, beside the other elders.
It was the first time Gavin had been a
second late.

"But my story must go back to
what happened in Caddam woods.

"Gavin entered Nanny's hut, to
find Babbie alone, on her knees. She
was praying.

"As she rose, he took her hand, but
she pulled it away from him. 'No,
no, ' she cried, ' I am to tell you every-
thing, and then '

"When she had finished in the same
low tones as contained her confession
thruout, the service bell had ceased
ringing in the church. Gavin, with
his face set between quivering hands,
could scarcely believe that she had
spoken. Babbie, the girl of the woods,
a gypsy waif picked up on the road by
Lord Rintoul years ago, and brought
up as his ward ! And now, in a day
more, she was going to marry him.

" 'Dont say that you love me still,'
she entreated, as he stood in the open
doorway. 'Oh, Gavin, do you?'

" 'But that matters very little
now, ' he said.

"The sounds of a dogcart and a
barking dog were heard approaching.

" 'It is Lord Rintoul searching for
me,' she said.

"Gavin took one step nearer
Babbie, and stopped.

"He did not see how all her
courage went from her, and she held
out her arms to him, but he heard a
great sob and then his name.

" 'Quick,' he said, 'out with the
light — ^we will be married tonight in
the gypsy camp on the hill. '

"At almost the same moment three
things happened : The elders solemnly
closed the church, locked it, and set
forth down the Caddam road for
the manse; the dogcart stopped at
Nanny's hut, its occupants found it
deserted, then, under the guidance of
the dog, followed where he led; Rob
Dow, in the grip of drink, the pitiless
instrument of the Lord, rose from
behind the firs and followed his
minister.

"Under the feeble light of the
stars, Gavin and Babbie were married
by gypsy rite. They had stood, hand
in hand, over the tongs, on a bare
hill, as the strange ceremony was
performed.

"A prolonged, vivid flash of light-
ning revealed to them, as if cut out of
silver, the tall figure of Lord Rintoul
in his dogcart, within a few paces of
them. He sat immovable, and, by his

THE LITTLE MINISTER

113

side, the group of elders was staring,
as in a death glare, at the scene.

" 'There is Lord Rintoul in the
dogcart,' Babbie whispered, drawing
in her breath.

' ' ' Yes, dear, ' said Gavin ; ' I am
going to him. Have no fear — you are
my wife.'

"In the vivid light, Gavin had
thought tlie dogcart nearer than it
was. He called Lord Rintoul 's name,
but got no answer. Instead, there
were shouts behind, dogs barking and
running, but only silence in front.

Babbie off. He meant to drown her
in Nanny's well, for witches fear only
fire and water. -

"As they neared Windyghoul, the
wind came shrieking thru the glen,
wrapping sheets of rain about them.
But Rob carried her to the side of the
well, his face set in a frenzy to do his
clear duty.

' ' He set her down, and, as he lifted
the mossy stone from the well-top, a
wall of rain blew between them.

"Babbie heard an awful crackling
sound above her, a thud on the earth.

g/-^Ll^

T^^H

)'M^" i

BABBIE AND THE LITTLE MINISTER ARE MARRIED BY GYPSY RITES

" 'Is that you, Gavin?' Babbie
asked just then.

"For reply, the man, creeping up
behind her, clapped a hand over her
mouth. Her scream was stopped mid-
way. A strong arm drove her into
the woods.

"And then the prayerless rain
came down like iron rods. Gavin, half
blind, heard the stifled cry, and
turned back. The hill was naked of
its dwellers, and Babbie was gone,
lie staggered after the sound of
retreating carriage wheels down the
road.

"It was Rob Dow who had carried

and then a groan. A heavy branch
had fallen upon Rob, and pinned him
down.

' ' In an instant, she was on her feet,
and running lilindly thru the wood
toward the manse.

"It must have been an hour after
dawn when Gavin came out on the
cliffs overlooking the Inharity. The
river tumbled, below him, angrj' and
swollen from the cloudburst of the
night, and a rumor had filtered into
Thrums that a man and dogcart,
crossing the bridge that led to Spittal
Castle, had gone down in the flood.

"Even now, a shepherd and a

114

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

liandful of weavers were running

along the cliff.

"Presently they crouched down,

and pointed at something below.

Gavin followed and peered down thru

the mist.

' ' There, on a tiny bit of island, lay

Lord Rintoul, washed up by the flood.
" ' Is he alive ? ' asked Gavin.
" 'Ay; he moved a minute since.'
" 'I'm going to jump for him.'
" 'No, no,' said those nearest to

servant, Jean, I leave a book. I give
to Rob Dow my Bible with the brass
clasp. '

"The water had worked up to his
shoulders.

" 'The weekly prayer meeting will
be held, as usual, on Thursday, at
eight o'clock, and the elders will
officiate. '

"He stopped, for the water lapped
at his face.

" 'Now I ken,' said Cruiekshanks,

THE ELDERS ARE RECONCILED TO THE MARRLVGE

him, but, even as they spoke, he
jumped.

"There was a cry in the gorge;
those above thought it the minister's
death-cry, but it was the echo of their

own.

He's landed safely, praise God.'
No, no ; he 's slipping, I tell yoii. '
" 'There's no rope to save them.'
"But, suddenly, Gavin's voice came
up to them clear and strong : ' If you
hear me, hold up your hands as a sign.
The bit of land is sliding away fast —
we may survive a few minutes. Wlien
you find me, give my watch to Mr.
Ogilvy, the schoolmaster, as a token.
" 'To each of my elders, and my

the atheist, 'that it's only a fool wha
says in his heart: "There is no
God.'"

"Again Gavin's voice came up to
them. 'Let us repeat the fourteenth of
Matthew, twenty-eighth verse: "But
when Peter saw the wind boisterous,
he was afraid ; and, beginning to sink,
he cried, saying, Lord save me. And
Jesus immediately stretched forth His
hand and caught him, and said unto
him, thou of little faith, wherefore
didst thou doubt?" '

' ' Once more the mist settled.

" '0 Lord,' cried an Auld Licht
man, 'lift the mist, for it's mair than
we can bear. '

THE LITTLE MINISTER

115

"The mist rose slowly, and those
who had the courage to look saw
Gavin praying with Lord Rintoul.
Many could not bear to look, and
some of them did not even see Rob
Dow jump.

"For it was Rob, the man Avith the
crushed leg, who saved Gavin's life,
and flung away his own for it.

"My pupils have a game," said
Mr. Ogilvy, wiping his e.yes, "that
they call 'The Little Minister,' in
which the two best fighters insist on
being Rob Dow and Gavin. I notice
that the game is finished when Rob
dives from a haystack, and Gavin
and the earl are dragged to the top of
it by a rope which he brought. So
much is all true, and wonderfully
well done.

' ' Then there is another scene which
is only a marriage, Avhieh the girls
play, making the boys take the part of
Aiild Licht elders, which they hate to
do.

"This scene is intended to repre-
sent the formal wedding of Babbie
and the little minister; for, I might

THE FORMAL WEDDING

add, the elders consented, and there
never was such a happy wedding in
all Scotland."

r>>»^r»

To the Photoplayers

By EDITH MYERS LATTA

When plaj'ing in a comic part,
I wisli you all the bliss

Of knowing that your audience
Enjoys it just like this :

Or when patlietie roles arise,

And liappiness you miss,
ilay friendl.v tears dim watching eyes,

Until they loolc like this :

But, oh ! no matter what you play,

I hope tliey do not hiss,
Or stiffl.v rise and turn away.

Or sit and loolc like this:

"Klv

"kn*^

Great Mystery Play

A Prize Contest for All

Fill in the missing scenes successfully and win a prize ^^ fw' ^
of $100 in gold '\

IN the November issue, we published, in full, the details of a contest absolutely
unique in idea. We printed a photoplay in which a man had invented a
machine for manufacturing diamonds, which machine was mysteriously
destroyed, a large diamond was stolen, and the inventor missing. We did not
divulge the facts concerning the crime, but left several scenes blank, which
scenes, if given, would have told the whole story down to the detection of the
guilty one or ones. The police and a great detective proceed to solve the
mystery, but, again, we leave out the scenes describing how it was done. We
ask our readers to solve the mystery by filling in the missing scenes.

To be one of the winners, a contestant need have no literary experience;
need not be familiar with photoplays or players, and does not have to guess
wildly, or express preferences : it is, rather, a fascinating game, dealing with
human beings and their motives, which you, the contestant, must feel, and
work out to a logical conclusion. In other words, a story, in photoplay form, is
told you; the necessary characters introduced; the interest and characters
surrounding the invention, and, finally, the theft of a magnificent diamond
and invention, are told in detail. Who did it ? And why ? That is what we
want to know.

A study of the absorbing story cannot help but arouse interest to conjure
up what is missing. Its help, too, in writing future photoplays will be invalu-
able to the reader. One of its interesting features is that the more it is
discussed in the family, or among friends, the more the interest grows. As fast
as the answers come in they are filed, to be submitted eventually to the judges
— not one mantiscript will fail to have a reading, both in the editorial office and
before the judges.

At the present writing, we might state that sufficient interest is being
shown to make the contest an assured success. Besides, we have received several
hundred letters, some of them from abroad, complimenting the magazine on
the human interest and originality of the idea.

For the benefit of the readers who have not read the "story in photoplay
form, we repeat the following simple rules, and print a synopsis of the
photoplay — ample information for new contestants :

(1) Any person is eligible to compete.

(2) We do not insist on perfect technique and construction.

(3) The best solution of the mystery is the main essential sought for.

(4) No person may submit more than one solution, and each manuscript
must contain nothing but the missing scenes, the cast of characters (if desired),
and the name and address of the contestant.

(5). It is not necessary to fill in every blank scene.

(6) You may not change, add to, or take from the scenes already given:
they must stand as they are, except that you may finish the incomplete last
scene.

(7) The contest will close on December 31, 1912, but all letters post-
marked on or before that date will be accepted, if received at this office before
January 5, 1913.

(8) If desired, the contestant may write simply the name of the person, or
persoiis, who committed the crime, stating the circumstances and motives. All
manuscripts submitted must be considered our property, and none will be

116

GREAT MYSTERY PLAY 117

returned. This photoplay, when completed by the first prize-winner, will be
called The Mystery Play of The Motion Picture Story Magazine, and will
be produced by the Vitagraph Company, with full credit of authorship to the
contestant submitting the best solution. All communications should be
addressed to "Editor the Mystery Play, M. P. S. Magazine, 26 Court Street,
Brooklyn, N.Y." We cannot undertake to answer any inquiries regarding the
contest. The complete photoplay (all but the missing scenes) was published
in the November issue, and it will not be published again. A copy of that
magazine will be forwarded to any person desiring it, for 15 cents, in
stamps or cash. The judges will be announced in the next issue. For your
convenience, a synopsis of The Great Mystery Play is here given :

THE DIAMOND MYSTERY.

Jonathan Moore, inventor and chemist, is down to his last dollar, but,
assisted by his daughter, Violet, and against the wishes of his wife, he persists
in fitting up their living-room as a laboratory and continuing his researches.
Olin, in love with Violet, enters, and shows his jealousy of Phelps, the son of
Moore's best friend. After repeated experiments with his formula and
crucible, Moore succeeds in making a large, perfect diamond, which is seen
by all.

Phelps slips out to his father's diamond shop, and, with consternation,
tells him of the discovery. Olin, too, is troubled, as its results may place Violet
beyond his reach. Meanwhile, Firestone, the diamond merchant, calls on
Moore, and is shown the beautiful stone. He leaves, dazed, believing the
process will ruin his business.

The inventor cautiously hides his diamond and formula, cables the result
to the International Diamond Syndicate, London, and asks for an offer. Blood-
good, the English manager, receives cablegram, and notifies his N. Y. agent,
Rollins, not to make a move till he comes.

Meanwhile, Phelps receives a sure tip on the races thru his reckless friend,
Bill. They both are broke, and Firestone refuses to advance money. In
desperation, Phelps goes to Olin, who loans him money and takes a receipt.
Their horse is a bad loser, and Phelps, disheartened, calls on Violet. Believing
him half sick, she tenderly cares for him, but Olin overlooks the scene and
summons Phelps into the hall. Olin, in a jealous rage, demands his money.
Phelps is destitute and puts him ofiE, to return to Violet. Thru artless questions,
he finds out from her the secret of the invention, and suddenly leaves to tell
Bill the cheerful news, and claiming that he himself is the inventor.

Bill is convinced and takes Phelps to the room of some counterfeiters.
Phelps draws plans of his supposed invention, and, finally, sells it to them for
a considerable sum. The next day he pays his debt to Olin.

In Bill's presence, the counterfeiters construct the diamond-making
machine, and find it inadequate. Bill promises to find Phelps and to fetch him
there. He goes to Firestone's shop, and is directed by him to the Moores'
house. He enters the laboratory, sees the invention, denounces Phelps, and
leaves as Phelps tries to explain things to Violet. The success of the invention
looks blue, as no word has come from England. Mrs. Moore is sarcastic and
miserable, but Moore and Violet still hope against hope. In the meantime, the
swindled counterfeiters hold Bill responsible for the trickery of Phelps.

The unexpected day comes when Rollins, the syndicate agent, calls on
Moore, to do business. Phelps, Violet, Olin and Rollins watch Moore make a
diamond. They show great interest and, finally, consternation as Moore refuses
an offer of $1,000,000 for his process. Rollins leaves, with a sneer.

Mrs. Moore tells of her husband's obstinacy, to her lady friends, who start
by sympathizing and end by plotting with her. Violet enthuses over their

118 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

prospect to Phelps, who puts his arm about her. Olin leaves the house in a
blind rage. He has barely gone when Bill enters and, asking to see Phelps
alone, accuses him of knavery. Phelps breaks down, and Violet rushes to his
relief. She listens to his confession. As she and Bill plan to save him, Fire-
stone enters and realizes his son's guilt. He denounces him and sends him
away, finally seizing on Bill to help him plan a scheme to save Phelp's
reputation.

Meanwhile, in Rollins' office, Bloodgood states that something must be
done at once — if the invention comes out their diamond fields are worthless.
They leave for a drinking-place to plan further — at the same time the baffled
counterfeiters, in their room, twist and turn about the useless plans of Phelps.

In the drinking-place Rollins sees the broken-spirited Phelps. Rollins
thinks he may be of use, and introduces Bloodgood to him.

On the evening of the same day, the inventor cautiously closes his labora-
tory, puts out light, and retires on cot in corner. (What happens next is to be
supplied by the contestant — scenes 46, 47 and 48.)

Thru open window an indistinguishable figure or figures climb in and flit
about room. There is an explosion where the diamond machine was. Violet
enters with light, sees wrecked machine, and discovers that the diamond,
formula and inventor are all missing. Telephones police.

The police captain sends an officer, who, after taking notes, reports it a
baffling case. The captain decides to call Lambert Chase, the famous detective,
into the case, and telephones him particulars.

Chase almost immediately appears at the Moores' and makes an inspection.
The following day, having ordered every one concerned to be present, he seats
them all — Olin, Phelps, Bill, counterfeiters, Firestone, Rollins, Bloodgood,
Violet and her mother — at a table in the laboratory, and places an instrument,
connected by wires to numbered charts, on their wrists. It is the pulseograph,
or pulse-writer. Suddenly he places, successively, a miniature machine like
the inventor's, 9. formula and an imitation of the diamond, on the table.
Suddenly there is an explosion of the machine, and the diamond and formula
are made to disappear. The detective then inspects the charts, and dramatically

raises his hand to name the guilty one (The rest of the play is omitted,

and the contestant is required to fill in the missing part of scene 57 and all of
58 and 59. This need not be done in scenario form. Simply a narrative of
what happened before the theft, and after the final meeting, would, perhaps,
do, altho we would prefer the scenes in photoplay form.)

A Leap-Year Valentine

By MARIE EMMA LEFFERTS

N this lifeless bit of paper, To take a trip around the world

Dear sir, I'm sending you Via the changing screens.

A heart that's loolcing for a mate, We'll view the Cathedral of Milan,

And thinks that you will do. St. Peter's Church, in Rome,

I'm glad it's leap year, for you see And Egypt's pyramids we'll see

I now can choose a beau, Without our leaving home.

And pick a rich proprietor To Nankin I should love to go.

Of a Moving Picture show ! Where stands the Porcelain Tower ;

Altho I do not care for wealth, Just think where we could travel

I love the photoplay, Within one golden hour ! •

And so, kind sir, if you'll agree, Please let me hear from you at once,

I'll name the wedding day. And if you're to be mine

Our honeymoon we'll spend abroad ; Enclose a ticket for the show —

You'll have sufficient means, Your leap year valentine.

■sm

ffilYERS

CLARA WILLIAMS, OF THE LUBIN COMPANY

T is hard to astonish the
prof essionn 1 hiterviewer,
who meets tlie unexpected
at every turn, but when Mr.
D'Arcy, of the Lubin Com-
pany, said : "Tliis is Miss
Clara Williams," I caught my
breath in a surprised gasp
that was genuine. I had
heard of her as a favorite in
vaudeville in New York ; I
had seen her many times on
the screen as the leading lady
in Mr. Grandon's Western
company — and still I was
quite unprepared for the girl
who rose to meet me as Mr.
D'Arey spoke. For this girl,
\vho was looking at me
frankly out of clear, dark
eyes, has the fresh, unspoiled
look and manner of some
schoolgirl who c:ime from the
West hut yesterday. Nothing
nbout her suggests the lights
and glare of the cities where
she has won her triumphs.
The dark hair beneath her
broad panama hat seemed to
have been tossed into curls by
the winds of the prairies, and
surel.v that lovely, rich color-
ing came from the Western
sun. Her eyes, which are
very large and dark, seemed
filled with the spirit of youth
and gladness — the eager, half-
wondering look of a child who
gazes upon a new world and
finds it full of interest. Suc-
cess seems to have showered
its blessings upon this girl
without exacting any of its
u.sual tolls.

When Jlr. Lubin came to
New York to engage a new
leading lady for his Western
company, he was looking for a
type. "I wiint a girl who
looks the part." he declared,
and he surely found her. Not
only does she look the part,
but her acting is superb. She
is an enthusiastic, conscien-
tious worker, putting all her
life and per.sonuliiy into the part she is playing. Of course she is an expert swimmer
and a perfect rider. The Indian pinto pony that she rides was bought specially for her,
and no one else ever rides "Apiielucia." who is a wonderfully intelligent pony, loving
Miss Williams devotedly, and responding instantly to her slightest suggestion.

119

120

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

"My work began in California, wliere I played with Mr. Anderson, of the Bssanay
Company," she said. "Tlien I left the pictures for tlie regular stage and vaudeville, but
I came back to the pictures. Yes, I love the work. It is fascinating — ahva.vs something
new, and boundless opportunities for improvement."

Kecently Miss Williams has played the leading part in a Mexican i)icture. "The
Divine Solution," and her fine work shows to great advantage here. "The New Ranch
Foreman," "The Minister" and "Xlie Outlaw" are among her recent plays, but the
one she likes best is "Parson James," where she takes the parts of both mother and
daughter.

"No, I do not care for the East," she sighed. "I am praying for the snow to fall
early, for then we shall go to California. I long for Los Angeles, my home city, and
for all the West — ^there is nothing here to compare with it. I'm terribly homesick, all
the time."

And, as I saw the longing look creep into those eyes, I resolved to pray for an early
snowfall, too, that this charming girl of the golden West might return to her homeland.

The Tatti^r.

TEFFT JOHNSON, OF THE VITAGRAPH COMPANY

AviixAGE of thatch huts,
p a 1 m a n d plantain
trees, naked savages
with murderous spears — in
fact, Darkest Africa, the
heart of Somalilaud — greeted
me as I worked my perilous
way thru the Vitagraph yard
to the little clubhouse wherein
tlie male players, when not
posing, often gather for a
game of cards.

TefEt Jolmson, he whose
tremendous shoulders and bi-
ceps are rendered harmless
by his kindly blue eyes, was
the one I sought, and I found
him. i)ipe in mouth, watching
a pinochle game.

"Let's go over to another
table," he suggested, rising a
good six feet, and stretching
his two hundred pounds,
"and swing our legs under it
in comfort. Now, fire away !"

"But, I've come to hear you
talk," I protested.

"Pooh ! the life of an actor
— you know what that is :
dreary days on the road, or
grinding the treadmill in
stocic companies. You dont
know how good the little, do-
mestic drama that I have
played at home with my wife
these past four years feels,
do yow'l If not, you've never
been an actor, as I have been. ■ , ' ^

"Yes," he resumed, with a refilled pipe, "four ' uiliuterrupted years with the Vita-
graph Company, and a season with the Edison, has been-iny record, and many a Photo-
player I've seen come and go, and many changes in this quick-fire art.

"No, I'm not thinking of retiring," lie protested, "in spite, of my reminiscent atti-
tude, but if I did it would be to a farm with, broad meadows, plenty of sheep and cattle,
and a good fishing stream nearby. These are my hobbies," he cheeked off his fingers :
"The country, lots of stock to raise and grade and doctor — I once was a young medico,
you know — and, b.v all means, good fishing.

"There is no place around here," he asseverated, "like the Raunt of Jamaica Bay for
a run of weakflsh, but the land around it is all bog and salt meadow." He sighed from
an inexhaustible chest at the unfitness of things. I was afraid that the chat would get
no further. "How did you first come to go on the stage?" I asked.

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS 121

"Nothing simpler," said the big fellow. "I had come on to New York in search of
adventure, and a friend told me that David Belasco, then a struggling, young manager,
was getting together a company. I l)earded him straightway in his office.

" 'Could you iake the part of a daredevil, blundering army sergeant?' he de-
man^M' sharply.'

. " 'As for the blundering, yes,' I promised, and 1 forthwith became a member of his
company, to remain under his management twelve good years.

"Afterwards, I played 'John Oxen' opposite Eugenie Blair in 'A Lady of Quality,'
and the lead in 'The Heart of Maryland.'

,"All-tbis"ti^^. I was pining for a home, and, at last, the chance came in photoplay
worl£, and' I seized tipon it, as only a peace-loving citizen can.

"In four years on^ does a quantity of posing," he resumed ; "it is an art in minia-
ture, for uAich has to be done, or suggested, in seconds of time, but I should say, ofl-
hand.-Hhstt my work as Henry VIII in 'Cardinal Wolsey,' as Tammas in 'Old Lang
Syne,' and as the unfortunate chum in 'Foragers' are as good bits as any I've done.

"If you remember 'Foragers,' my chum (Costello) and I separated, each to go Ills
wa;?' after the Boer War. He became prosperous and famous, and I, luckless devil,
went down and do\pn,' until I was doing pick-up jobs by the wayside.
i ,' "One job was putting in coal, and, just at the time, the studio happened to be lay-
fBg in the winter's supply, so the scene was cast in front of the Vitagraph coal-hole.

" 'Are you ready?' ordered the director. 'Shovel !' And shovel I did with a right good
will. First I put in a ton or so of small coal, while tha camera clicked the scene, then,
as the camera-man and director still watched me, I tackled a heavier size.

"Down the hole it roared for a full fifteen minutes — I had never done more realistic
nor faithful work. At last I straightened up. Camera-man and director had disap-
peared. I afterwards learnt tliat only my first few shovelsful were photographed, at
all ; the rest was charged up to coal-heaving, pure and simple.

"There was a time, tho," he continued, "during my early days of photoplaying that
every one in tlie company lost his temper, including myself. I was cast as a diver,
to do one of those deep-sea fights with a rival, in the bay off Fort Hamilton.

"Everything being in readiness, we put off in our launch, and my rival disappeared
to his lair under water. When my turn came, and the camera was merrily recording
the scene, I put my feet into the water, and started for the bottom. But I popped right
up again, much to the dismay of evers'body. A second time I tried it, with the same
ridiculous result 'Keep him under for a few seconds,' roared the director, 'if you have
to stun him with an oar,' but my buoyancy finally routed all their efforts.

"When I, at last, clambered into the boat, blowing like a grampus, the cause of my
acting was discovered by every one — I had forgotten to put on the diver's heavily
weiglited shoes.

"The sad part of the spoilt picture is yet to come," said TeEEt, puffing ruefully, "for
even to this day when I am cast in a 'heavy' part, the incident is thrown up to me."

"Ever been featured in the press — heroism or accident?" I asked.

"Yes, most certainly — had the whole studio in mourning about it, too. It happened
in this way. We were doing 'field work' in a country town, and a country painter
named Tom Johnson fell off our hotel roof and broke his neck.

"Some busybody immediately telegraphed the studio and the newspapers, and for
a whole day I got the credit for it — read the most beautiful things about my work and
my devotion to duty, too. The next day I had to wire in and ease their minds, how-
ever, and be just plain Tefft Johnson again." Peteb Wade.

EDWIN AUGUST, OF THE LUBIN COMPANY

Father calls me William,

Sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie,

But the fellers call me Bill !

So sang one of Mr. Riley's small boys, and I think Mr. Edwin August must have a
kindred feeling for this yoimgster. For his real, truly name is — ^just take it slowly
—Edwin August Phillip Von der Butz, and "the fellers" call him Jack ! But this
is not all of the story about his names. In London he is known to the great, picture-
loving public as Montague Lawrence ; in Australia, as Wilkes Williams ; in Ireland, as
John Wilkes; in France, as Karl Von Busing, and in the Orient as David Cortlandt.
All this is due to the fact that, before going to the Lubin Company, he was leading man
with the Biograph Company, which, as every one knows, refuses to reveal the identity
of any players; hence, the different exchanges abroad fitted names to his pictures to
suit themselves.

When Mr. August was a very small boy he started stage life in "Little Lord

122

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

Fauutlei'oy," but cruel destiny took hiui from the stage
and put liim iu school until he gi-aduated from the
Christian Brothers' College in St. Louis — the town where
he was born. For a time he was leading man in stock
at the Imperial Theater, St. Louis; then he went with
Otis Skinner and afterwards with Jlrs. Leslie Carter and
Digby Bell. He was with the revival of "Shore Acres"
in New York, and in the original cast of "Going Some."
"The Climax" came next, following "William Lewers"
at Weber's, in New York.

One day Mr. August was walking down Broadway when
he met Robert Carness, and they stopped to chat. During
the conversation Mr. Carness put the query, "Why dont
you do something in Jlotion Pictures?" It was a new idea
to Mr. August, and he was inclined to look at it as a joke,
but, finally, he was persuaded to go up to the Edison studio
and meet Jlr. Plimpton. An iuunediate engagement fol-
lowed, and for some time he alternated the pictures with
his regular stage work. Then came a season when he
was rehearsing with an all-star cast for "Diplomacy."
Regardless of the play's suggestive title, all the stars got
into a fight, and the play was abandoned. It was then
that, attracted by the big salary offered, Mr. August went
to the Biograph Company, where he was leading man until he went to the Lubin's six
weeks ago. His first release from Lubin's will be "His Life," to be followed by "A
Bond of Servitude," "At the Rainbow's End," "The Players" and "The Good-for-
Nothing."

Mr. August is a student, reading constantly the best things in literature. He has
WTitten many scenarios, among them "The Bearded Youth," "The Sorrowful Child" and
"The Mender of Nets," released l>y the Biograph, and "The Song of a Soul," one of the
most beautiful productions of the Edison Company.
"Do you like I'hiladelphia?'' I asked him.

"Well — it's only a little way from New York," he replied. "I can run over every
week, you see."

Unlike many of the photoplay stars, Mr. August makes no attempt to conceal his
profession in his private life. In the fashionable neighborhood where he lives, he is
known and pointed out to the visiting stranger. He is very fond of society, and loves
dancing, so it is small wonder that he is a bit stiff and tired after his weekly visits to
New York. He is fond of baseball, also, but his great hobby is chicken breeding, and he
owns an up-to-date chicken farm in California, where he is experimenting with the
problem of featherless chickens.

In appearance, Edwin August is the rather quiet, self-possessed tj'pe of gentleman,
with a courteous ease of manner that niakes even the inquisitive interviewer feel com-
fortable. He has very dark hair and a pair of fine, constantly changing eyes, which
keep one guessing about their color. As nearly as I could determine, they are hazel — ■
when they are not black or brown or gray or some of the shades between. He has a
splendid voice, strong and w-ell-modulated, and his enunciation is perfect. It seems a
pity that his pictures cannot talk! His clothing is absolutely correct, and "matched
up" to the last detail.

No, I did not ask whether he is married. What's the use?

The Inquisitob.

MISS VIVIAN PRESCOTT, OF THE IMP CO.

PiCTUBE to yourself a merry little elfin creature, bubbling all over with childish
glee, from her bobbing black curls and her dancing black eyes to the tips of her
tiny twinkling feet, and .you have a picture of Miss Vivian Prescott when as a
wee girl she danced her way into fame as a little toe-dancer on the theatrical stage in
the far West. Now vest this dainty creature with all w-omanliness, give her fascination,
vivacity, charm, mix with childish eagerness the enthusiasm of youth — and you have
Miss Prescott grown up.

Of a truth, she is rightly named — ^"Vivian," Everything about her suggests keen
alertness — her bright smile, her cordial manner, her quick walk (which is almost a
skip), her impulsive gestures, her vibrant voice, and her unbounded enthusiasm.
Almost her first words, as we settled ourselves in her dressing-room for our little tOte-tl-
tete, were, "I love the stage," and the way she said them left no doubt in my mind.
Did she talk of motor-cars, it was the same; of riding, rehearsing. Motion Pictures,
fellow-actors, hard study — always the same refrain, "I love it."

Beginning her career at so earl.y an fige, Miss Prescott was practically "brought up

CEATS WITH THE PLAYERS

123

on the stage," as she expresses it. and
soon developed great asi)irations, aiming
at nothing less than becoming a Mrs. Les-
lie Carter ! Her a.spirations are certainly
no lower now than they wore then, altho
they may have changed objectively. For-
tunately for us, this longing for the stage
was fostered by a doting mother, despite
fatherly iirotests, and the years saw Miss
Prescott in many roles.

Finally there came a smnnier pause in
the theatrical profession, and Motion I'ic-
tures were suggested to her one morning
l)y no less an agent than the cohnnns of
the Dramatic Mirror. A photograi)h and a
friend at court elicited a call from the*
Biograph Company that very afternoon,
and in fear and trembling she went down
to the studio, all unbeknown to her family.
The disappointment written on the man-
ager's face, as he saw her, caused a corre-
sponding sinlving of Iier heart.

"But, Miss Prescott. you're such a
tiny girl !" he exclaimed. "I expected,
from your picture, that you would be
tall."

She may have been small, but she was
not insignificant, as the manager evidently
soon saw, for he found a place for her in
one of his pictures, and Vivian Prescott,
like so many others before and since, fell victim to the charms of Motion IMcture acting,
altho in her case it took a peremptory summons and a hurry call with an automobile
to finally win her. And now she "loves" Motion Picture work, and couldn't he per-
suaded to go back to the stage, despite the fact that her family would rather see her
there.

For two years she remained with the Biograph Company, playing the athletic girl,
the boarding-school girl, the college girl, enjoying the out-of-door life and fun and
gaiety the parts demanded, and for which she is so well suited, and, of course, she
"loved" it. She declares that she has been a bride "one thousand times." and I suppose
she loved that. too. But I'm sure there's only one man in the real-life case (and a
real-life case there must be, for nobody who so loves to love could escape when all
the world loves to />,e loved), and he has a motor-ear, and, need I say, he's mighty luckyV
After the Biograph years, there appeared, upon the horizon of her destiny, the
Imp. Now imp, with a small i, may mean innumerable things, but Imp with a capital
/ means one and only one — Independent Motion Pictures. This purposeful ogre got her
in its clutches, and now Miss Prescott is one of the Imps. What parthnilar propensities
in that line she showed early in Iier career I must leave for the Biographers to de-
termine. At any rate, altho she does not love comedy less, she now appears in tragedy
more, with "Cigarette," "Fanchon, the Cricket," and "Leah, the Forsaken" standing
out especially in her memory. She often writes her own scenarios, and she must be
delightful in the Spanish and Gypsy parts she described to me.

Whatever Imp, as a name, may suggest in the way of frivolity, it certainly stands
for solid work. 'There isn't an unutilized space in the studio, a superfluous article, or
a spare moment Here Miss Prescott works and plays, and is an inspiration in herself.
And I left her at the close of a hard day's work with her irrepressible spirits un-
conquered and unclouded. Gladys Roosevelt.

Mother Goose Up to Date

By ULUAN MAY

This merry Christmas day.
Is it cranberry sauce that makes himsocross

He wont go out to play?
He pounds the floor and kicks the door.

Forgetting 'tis Christmas day.
But see, his smiles come scampering back,
He has found his nickel down in a crack,

He's off to the Photoplay.

Vaudeville in Moving Picture Theaters

By ROBERT GRAU

THREE years ago, the present
writer issued a protest against
a perpetuation of the policy,
then generally in vogue, of present-
ing vaudeville acts in theaters where
the public was originally created
and the patronage sustained solely
thru the millions of new amusement
. seekers to whom the Moving Pictures
came as a revelation.

It was not vaudeville, nor any part
of that phase of the general amuse-
ment scheme, which changed the
theatrical map. It was the Moving
Pictures, almost despised by the
vaudeville managers of . a decade
ago, and often used by them as a
"chaser."

Half of New York's playhouses, at
some time or other, unable to attract
profitable patronage along the olden
lines, were made paying visitations
thru the medium of the Motion Pic-
ture. It is true that the class of
theaters known as "Pop" vaudeville,
houses have prospered amazingly, but
eventually we will discover that this
condition has come about at the ex-
pense of what is known as the "Big
Tune" vaudeville theaters — or, in
fact, the theaters where the scale of
prices for seats is four times as large
as at the "Pop" houses.

But — and I cant make the "B" big
enough — ^there is due to come a day
of reckoning wherein it will be
quickly apparent that it is the per-
sistent improvement in the output of
the film manufacturers that has sus-
tained the "Pop" vaudeville houses;
and, in many cases, the public protest
has been so vehement that all vaude-
ville acts were withdrawn in scores of
theaters all over the country, with an
after result wholly constructive.

Marcus Loew understands this con-
dition thoroly ; so does William Fox ;
that is why these two successful show-
men are erecting palatial theaters, to
be devoted exclusively to the silent
drama. Mr. Loew has been impressed

124

with the outcome of the policy at the
Herald Square, Circle, and Royal the-
aters, where photoplays alone serve to
sustain establishments with attmual
rentals ranging from $20,0CfD to
$50,000. 'f 'i-v.

I kiave observed, too, that in
the theaters where Motion Pictures,
alone, liave replaced the combination
policy, the sizie of the audiences has
i^creaffeft? while the expenses have
gjreatly decreased. Moreover, there
are/^taaD^, like myself, _:who will re-
^"e ^ suffer thwi two intolerable
yaud^vijle acts to se^ one good photo-
pla^f^and this hasresulted in- the cre-
iEttiSo. Of a vast public that will not
enter; a theater. where vandeville and
i^i<Sures represent the offering, jtn
fliree years thi» public has grawn,
until today there ax^ at least two
hundred photoplay houses where the
policy has been shifted in the manner
here advised.

As the caliber of the output on the
screen continues to improve, so will
the number of these exclusive the-
aters multiply. In many of these, the
price of admission has increased from
ten cents to fifteen, and in some to
twenty-five cents.

In the next five years, we should
witness the advent of a new era
for the theater of science. This, in
my humble opinion, may come the
quicker if managers or exhibitors
(why not call them managers?) will
help typify the temples of the silent
drama by eliminating the player in
the flesh from their stages. If they
will extend this co-operation to the
manufacturers, there is no limit- as
to the heights Moving Pictures will
reach in this new era. Many maga-
zine writers are vigorously demand-
ing the typification of the photoplay
house. Let this protest go on. Per-
haps, when the new Kinemacolor
Theater is ready for the public to
enter, we may realize just what it
means to typify the theater of science.

IN spite of all that has been said, aud written, against the too frequent
exhibition of photoplays that feature convicts, murder, forgery, drinking,
stabbing, kidnapping, burglary and other offenses against the statute and
moral laws, we still see too many of these objectionable plays. Among the
"unpardonables" is a foreign one that has been the rounds, which features a
very smart l)oy who plays the part of a fast man about town, drinking and
doing all the improper things that an immoral man would do. Therer is no
plot to the play, and nothing in it, apparently, that was intended to win our
admiration, except the "smartness" of a mere boy who has so quickly matured
as to imitate the sins of his elders. The mqral effect of this play upon our
youths must be anything but uplifting, and if such things are tolerated abroad
there is certainly no excuse for showing them here. Again we repeat, let us
produce fewer immoral and crime plays, and let our constant aim be to raise
the standard!

Doubtless many bad boys have been made badder by Motion Pictures,
just as they have by dime novels, cheap vaudeville, gambling, etc., but it is
just as certain that many bad boys have been made better by Motion Pictures.
And it is not only with the boys. Evei-y once in a while we read of some man
or woman who has reformed after having seen some impressive photoplay, of
some runaway boy who has returned home, of some erring woman who has
turned back from her downwai'd course, of some desperate person who had
decided upon a sinful deed, but who has now been rectified. Florence Turner
says that she once received a letter from a person who said that she was on the
verge of doing a desperate and wicked thing, when she saw a play in which
Miss Turner did a similar thing, and, seeing the hideousness of it and the eon-
sequences, had changed her mind and desisted. In other words, Miss Turner
had saved a life, and it made her happy. Ever after, even to this day, she
wonders, when she has done a good part, if the play will deter some poor soul
from doing wrong, and it is this thought that makes her put so much emotion
and reality in her work. Doubtless, other players, and writers of photoplays,
feel as does Miss Turner, and, if so, it is plain that even if some harm comes
from Motion Pictures, there is also a vast amount of good.

It is sad to see a friend come to borrow money, for we know that either
we shall lose the friend or the money. Bless the man who will lend me money,
but not the man who does. A friend in need is a friend indeed — perhaps ! — it
depends on how much he needs !

125

MUS INGS OF "THE PHOTOPLAY PHILOSOPHER" _

Somebody has said that the Motion Picture companies have gone thru
literature with a fine-tooth comb, in an effort to get plots. If that be true,
they may have to resort to "Old Sleuth, the Detective," "Chip, the Cave
Child," "Evil Eye, King of the Cattle Kings," and the Beadle Library. Then
there's Edward L. Wheeler's "Deadwood Dick," Harold Payne's "Thad
Burr," J. C. Cowdrick's "Gilbert of Gotham," Albert W. Aiken's "Dick Tal-
bert," Joseph E. Badger's "Frank Lightfoot," William Harbaugh's "Old
Cap. Collier," Edward Manning's "Rustler Rube," Prentiss Ingraham's
"Arizona Charley," William G. Patten's "Old Burke of Madison Square,"
and so on, and how the mere mention of these names brings back the happy
days of youth, when we saved up our pennies, and secretly devoured those
thrilling yarns ! I assume that we all did it, and I am not so sure that we are
any the worse for it. When Motion Pictures first began to be popular, these
were the types and plots that were most demanded. Now, since there has been
such a hue and cry raised against Motion Pictures, we are beginning to see
Shakespeare, Dickens, Scott, Cooper, and even Homer, on the screen. Of
course, it is a change for the better, and a change that will perpetuate the
Motion Pictures as a means of popular amusement, but, nevertheless, I'll
wager that the best of us would like, if we own up to it, a little of the old-time
"blood and thunder" tales once in a while. Lincoln, Seward, Chase, Zach.
Chandler, Stephen J. Field, Senator Hoar and many other great men got the
dime novel habit early in life, and it clung to some of them till their death.

If not too indiscreet, might we inquire if you have observed the various
announcements of our business friends who have favored us with their adver-
tisements ? Please remember that by helping them, you help us, and that by
helping us, you help them.

' ' The Motion Picture, as Thackeray might say, now has his ambassadors
in every part of the world. They enter the cabinets of kings, and turn their
telephotographic lenses on coronations and durbars. Royalty pauses before
, them in procession, troops fight sham battles, cowboys ride in pursuit of
rustlers, and burglars ply their trade for their benefit. They catch the pick-
pocket in the act, and the public speaker in his choicest period. Their cameras
reproduce conflagrations, and depict railroad collisions, and if there are as yet
no films showing the discovery of the North and South Poles, it is really
remarkable."

We all appreciate wealth, and most of us are struggling to attain it, but
there are two things more precious than wealth, and but few of us pay any
attention to them — Time and Health. While time is money, how little do we
value it and how carelessly do we squander it ! We are all apt to be penny
wise and pound foolish. We save time in one way and squander it foolishly
in another. Did you ever go into a barber shop and see how the patients of
the tonsorial artist save time ? The victim of the rush of business sits down
■J in the chair, with a newspaper in one hand and a manicurist holding the other.
A chiropodist works at one foot, while a bootblack works at the other. As the
barber fills his face with lather, and his ears with words, the poor man's
mind is beset with thoughts, lather, words, chiropodist, manicurist, news, boot-
black, and business. Poor man ! Poor mind ! Poor business ! Such economy
of time is marvelous, for an hour later this very man is sitting for hours, after
the theater, playing cards and drinking cocktails.

MUSINGS OF "THE PHOTOPLAY PHILOSOPHER

^.-Tr.i^atfcpysss:

Did you ever see a near-great photoplay, and then, when it was over,
take a deep breath and say, "What a shame that a fine thing like that should
be spoiled by such an apparent inconsistency!" Such things happen often,
but all we can do is to keep on criticising and complaining. After all, there
is nothing good, anywhere, that is not mixed with the bad. It is hard to
pluck a rose without getting pricked, and it is hard to gather honey without
getting stung. The good and the beautiful things are surrounded with safe-
guards, and they all have their equivalent in evil.

Automobilists are not the only people who have "tire trouble." Lots of
other people have it. Algernon, take your foot off that brake !

"Let well enough alone" is the lazy comment of the conservatist. If
everybody said this, there would be no improvement. Necessity is not the
mother of invention, because most inventions have come thru the desire to im-
prove, and not thru compulsion. There is scarcely a single invention which
could not even now be dispensed with, and certainly it is harder to dispense
with a thing to which we are accustomed than with one which has not yet
come into general use. The mind that fears change, and which does not crit-
ically observe conditions with a view to improving, is a drone in the hive.
Nothing is "good enough" unless it is the best. Change is the law of life and
the eternal program of evolution. To let things alone is to let them decay and
to baffle progress. The one unchangeable law, is the law of change.

If you keep a record of the photoplays you see, you will find it a pleasant
recreation, and a helpful one. Here is an idea : buy a n5te-book, rule it and
title it thus :

Title

Company

Date

Classification
(Comedy, drama, etc.)

Leading characters

Principal players

Plot

Principal scenes

Comments

Merit per cent.

■J If the play has appeared in this magazine, make a note of it, and of the

date of the issue. A good way to mark a play as to merit, is to use numbers
from one to ten, one meaning extremely bad, or worst ; ten meaning very fine,
or perfect ; five, medium ; nine, very excellent ; two, very bad, and so on. The
book should be carried to the photoshow, for it is necessary to write the titles
as soon as they appear on the screen ; otherwise, they will be forgotten. Your
criticisms and other details may be written later.

;

■

'
^

Look over the list of popular players, and you will discover that nearly
every one has a pleasing smile. Very few become popular who have not a
pleasing personality, and nothing gives a pleasing personality so much as a
sunshiny countenance. A good smile, and the battle for popularity is half won.

If you think that our language should not be simplified in spelling, just
ask a foreigner to read aloud the following :

Though the tough cough and hiccough plough me through.
O'er life's dark lough my course I still pursue.

It will be observed that otigh is therein pronounced in seven different ways :
o, uff, off, up, ow, 00 and och. ^

The photoplay's the thing! It can do all that the drama can do, and do it
in less time. Furthermore, it can do it all over the world at the same time, and
with the same players. It can amuse, entertain, uplift, enlighten, educate,
stimulate and ennoble. It can bring a tear, a sigh, a groan, a laugh, a frown,
all in a half -hour. It can tell a whole book, chapter by chapter, scene by scene,
all in an hour. Yes, the play's the thing, as Shakespeare says, and yet some
managers insist on adulterating their programs with cheap vaudeville. Such
managers must be in their second childhood. A child will often discard beauti-
ful, educating toys, such as blocks, books and dolls, for an old tin pan and a
spoon, and these managers imagine that sensible people would prefer to see
painted women and effeminate men playing coon songs on sleighbells, pots,
kettles and jew's-harps, to photodramas by our master companies. Shades of
Thespis, Aristophanes, Shakespeare and Edison !

I
^

He who is pleased to find fault, is usually displeased to find perfection.

The first dramatic representations known in Europe were devotional
pieces, acted by the monks, in the churches of their monasteries, representative
of the life and acts of the Saviour and of His apostles. And now comes the
Kalem Company with " Prom the Manger to the Cross. " History repeats itself .

There is one thing that American actors and actresses need more than
anything else, and it is something that is apparently not taught in this country,
and not learnt. I refer to grace culture. The foreign players have it almost to
excess. They are all action, all movement, all gesture, all grace. They move
about, and bow, and walk, and sit, and make gestures with an easy grace that
seems born in them. We Americatis have not yet learnt the art of gracefulness.
Somebody has said that grace is the outcome of inward harmony ; but whether
so or not, it is certain that most of us could easily and quickly learn to express
grace outwardly, whether we have it inwardly or not. A beautiful face or
form is much, but without grace of movement they are very much like an
unfinished, unframed painting. The libraries are full of books on grace culture,
and if our players would read them more, perhaps they would soon take on that
outward appearance of elegance that so distinguishes the foreigners.

A Tale of the French Settlers

The prize puzzle contest closed on the second of October, as was announced, and,
as usual, the last week brought a flood of entries. It has required many hours of careful
work to read the thousands of answers that came in, and to tabulate the results, but
the satisfaction we felt In knowing that so many of our readers have been interested
in the contest has made the task a pleasure.

The prize-winners are as follows :

FIRST — Louise L. P.\ckard, 83 Lancaster Street, Albany, N. Y.
' SECOND — Grace Moob, 710 Hickoey Street, Niles, Michigan.
THIRD— E. SissiNGH, 406 43i) Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.
FOURTH — Sophie Northrop, 1812 Princess Street, Wilmington, N. C.
FIFTH — C. M. Anderson, 808 Macon Street, Brookly-n, N. Y.
SIXTH — Maby Hull, 116 S. Hopkins Street, Saybe, Pa.

The following contestants deserve honorable mention, their lists having come very
close to the winning lists :

Kate C. Young, Aurora, 111. ; Elmer Lawrence, Dansville, N. Y. ; J. W. Summers,
Youngstown, Ohio; M. G. Jones, Brooklyn, N. Y. ; Dorothy Reichenbacker, Honesdale;
Pa. ; Rose M. Bliss, Niles, Mich. ; Clarice E. Patterson, Bangor, Me. ; Louise Steinberg,
Washington, D. C. ; W. W. Warner, Oakland, Cal. ; May B. Martin, Baltimore, Md. ;
Nellie Overend, Chattanooga, Tenn. ; Charlotte Wheeler, Crown Point, Ind. ; Gladys
Calhoun, Kent, Wash. ; Helen Emerson, Yonkers, N. Y. ; May Law, Philadelphia, Pa. ;
Herman W. Hickler, Buffalo, N. Y. ; Ethel Fawcett, Avalon, Pa.; Herbert Spitz, New
York City ; Thos. L. Wheelis, Orlando, Fla. ; Ray Parker, Staten Island, N. Y. ; Mary
Stover, Wilmington, N. C. ; Maurice Phipps, Reading, Pa. ; Edith Seaver, Mansfield,
Miss. ; Adelaide Blake, Portsmouth, Ohio ; Beulah Pomeroy, Edgerton, Wis. ; Ruby E.
Stanley, Prewsburg, N. Y. ; Edythe Gittinger, Pikesville, Md.

Next to these is a list too long to print, as it contains the names of nearly a thou-
sand contestants who came within five names of the prize-winners.

So it will be seen that the race was a close and a merry one. From hundreds of
contestants came letters stating that the fun derived from puzzling over the baflSing
blanks was ample reward for their effort.

Steve Talbot, of Philadelphia, Pa., sent in a dainty little booklet, containing the
prize story in typewritten form, with the picture of an actor or actress pasted into
each blank space. This was so neatly and cleverly gotten up that we are awarding it
a special prize, altho the number of spaces correctly filled did not place the story quite
in the winning class.

We extend to the winners our hearty congratulations on their clever work ; to all
the other contestants, our thanks for their interest and a hearty invitation to Join in
the new contest.

I Only Saw Her Hat

By ARTHUR BENTLEY

I paid my dime and took a seat.

But there before me sat
A lady with an ostrich plume —

I only saw her hat.
I think the first was comedy;

The second was "Wild Pat" ;

The third, I think was Pathfi's— but,

I only saw her hat.
The fourth was one of Dickens, and

The people spoke of Nat ;
The fifth, I did not see the name,

I only saw her hat.

129

The Tremolo Touch

By WILLIAM LORD WRIGHT

THE Tremolo Touch is an inhereni;
emotionalism essential to suc-
cess in Literature, Music, Art
and the Drama. It is the plaintive ap-
peal that twitches the heart-strings of
audiences at Moving Picture theaters,
and, hence, the Tremolo Touch is
longingly sought for hy director,
actor and photoplaywright.

The Tremolo Touch nestled momen-
tarily to the heart and mind of the
director who staged Vitagraph's
' ' Vanity Fair. ' ' The Touch was wel-
comed in the "big scene," a situation
that in convincing emotionalism, and
dramatic tenseness, in my estimation,
has never been surpassed in Film-
land. Unsophisticated Rawdon Craw-
ley went home. He saw Becky Sharp
in the arms of Lord Steyne, fiction's
bird of prey. Was it hypnotic power
that compelled the senile lord to gaze
spellbound at the apparition there in
the doorway ? Was it an unseen hand
that turned Becky's lovely head and
fastened her horrified gaze upon the
accusing figure of her husband, whom
she had believed behind prison bars?
No, it was the Tremolo Touch !

Slowly, Rawdon Crawley comes for-
ward; slowly the guilty couple arise
from the seat. The hypnotic eyes never
waver. Here is a tense situation, a
realistic atmosphere, surcharged with
dread possibilities. It's the Tremolo
Touch — ^the indefinable something so
elusive, but so welcome to the artistic
sense and soul.

The scene continues inexorably to
its logical end. There is no diversion,
no reaction. The action is beyond
power of direction; the principals in
the east are now living, that situation.
What will Rawdon Crawley do?
Actors and audience know, but they
are carried along, breathlessly, to the
conclusion. Thej"^ are all under the
sway of the Tremolo Touch, and all
would have it so, for they recognize its
presence and welcome its temporary
power. And, when the "big scene"
is done, there is a long, audible sigh.

Upon three occasions have I heard the
fluttering, sobbing sigh greet the
scenic ending. The tension is over ;
the play is logically concluded; the
audience cares little for what follows,
because the Tremolo Touch has
vanished.

Many Photoplay stars, whose work
you admire, have the Tremolo Touch
to a more or less degree. It is the
secret of good Photoplay acting. Act-
ing is a mystery. It cannot be taught,
and it cannot be learnt. Fine acting
produces a certain effect — ^just as a
certain effect is produced by an artis-
tic painting, or an appealing refrain.
Why? No one can explain. Actors
will tell you, sometimes, that they
know how it is done; that a certain
cause in a Photoplay produces a cer-
tain effect. They think they know,
but do they ? Do they know why some
inspired action makes a certain scene
convincing and gripping, when the
best efforts of director and actors in
many other Photoplays go for naught ?
No one knows. It's the Tremolo
Touch. What makes great musicians,
painters, writers ? Not the tools with
which they work ; countless other men
work with the same tools in vain. It's
the intimate, personal touch. Call it
genius, or insanity, or what you will, I
call it the Tremolo Touch, the power
to endow the particular medium thru
which you are trying to express your-
self, with truth, sincerity, conviction
and sympathy. And, even behind all
these, another ingredient enters — a
sixth sense which is given to no mor-
tal to perceive.

When a Photoplay rouses some orig-
inal thought in your mind ; when, un-
consciously, tears spring into your
eyes, or you are incited to an unaf-
fected laugh; when you leave the
Moving Picture theater with heart
and mind intertwined — ^just believe
me when I assert that another Photo-
play has "gone over," and that you
have been entertaining the Ti"emolo
Touch unawares !

130

^^HWdwS ^gjssjmm sif?

THE popularity of this department far surpassed our anticipations. So
many of our esteemed readers have favorite plays and players to write
about that we have decided to enlarge the department. Even now, we
cannot hope to publish a one-hundredth part of the verses, appreciations and
criticisms that we receive, but we shall do the best we can. Neither can we
acknowledge receipt of them, nor return those that are unavailable, nor pay
for those that we accept. Those that we do not publish will not be wasted,
however ; they will be sent to the players themselves, so that they may enjoy
them as we have.

Many original and interesting ideas for contests have been received.
Prom D. S. Alves, of San Francisco, and Alina M. Parisette, of Brooklyn,
come requests for a Beauty Contest, while Miss Esther Gordon, New
York City, puts in a plea for the boy and girl actors to be given a chance to
prove their popularity. A Picture Players' Name Contest, the prize going to
the "fan" sending in the longest list of names, is suggested by George H.
Haekathorne, of Pendleton, Ore. H. K. Cramer, Lexington, Ky., suggests that
the readers of The Motion Picture Story Magazine be permitted to select an
All-Star Cast for a Photoplay to be selected by this magazine and published
therein, the players to be picked for his or her ability to play the part. Mr.
Thomas Graves, Helena, Ark., sympathizing with the Inquiry Editor, suggests
a contest of Foolish Questions, favoring, as a prize, a fool's cap and bells.
Miss Annie French, from her home in Winthrop, Me., sends kindly and com-
plimentary lines on the pleasure she derives from this magazine, and suggests
a contest, featuring the couples who do the best team work, mentioning Alice
Joyce and Carlyle Blackwell as an example. Miss Estella A. Geiger, Buffalo,
N. Y., wants a chance to vote for the "most expressive actors," while the
unknown "Extras" (Supers?) have a champion in Mrs. Helen Moore, of
New York City. Alfred Weirs, 115 Chambers Street, New York City, writes
that he would like to vote for "the best story that appears in the magazine for
a certain number of months, and then the writer who has the greatest number
of votes, after the votes be added together, receive the prize."

From far-off Auckland, New Zealand, Mr. Arch Burns writes an interest-
ing letter, telling us, among other valued bits of information, that in New Zea-
land the American-made pictures are esteemed more highly than either the
English or European films. Mr. Burns thinks a contest to determine the
popularity of the different film companies would prove popular.

We regret that limited space prevents the publishing of many worthy
contributions. Tributes have been received for the following favorites : Miss
Marion Leonard and Miss Marguerite Snow, from Sampsen Tement, Lona-
coning, Md. Arthur Johnson, from Flo Newstadt, Brooklyn ; Miss Mamie
Hippie, Columbia, Pa., and Rhoda Wright, Yonkers, N. Y.

Miss Beverly Bayne, from "Tomie."

Mr. Guy Coombs, from Miss Virginia Whitney, Norwich, Conn.

Alice Joyce, from Bud Lang, San Francisco ; Miss Lydia Anton, N. Y. C. ;

131

132

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS

Francis Hutchinson, Washington, D. C. ; Allen Spencer, Miss Beatrice Alte-
mus, Philadelphia, and Miss Helen Bowbin, Chicago.

Miss Edith Storey, from John Tapley, Jackson, Miss.

Frank E. Maxey mounts Pegasus, and soars into rarefied air in an enthu-
siastic ode to ' ' The Photoplay. ' '

Carlyle Blackwell is announced a favorite by Ruby Garing, Flagstaff,
Ariz., also by Harold H. Hanson, Gloucester, Mass. The latter, in company
with Florence Mahon, San Francisco, and Laura E. Knox, Wakefield Junc-
tion, Mass., eulogizes Maurice Costello.

Gene Gauntier receives poetical applause from Clarence Festerly, Can-
ton, 0., as does Gilbert Anderson from V. L. K. and "A Jersey Admirer";
Yale Boss from Miss Mary Deacon, San Francisco; James Cruze from Miss
Mary Herzig, Roxbury, Mass. ; Mary Fuller from Vera Gilfgott, Boston,
Mass., and Mr. Kerrigan from E. M. K., Tarentum, Pa.

Mrs. H. C. Edwards, Muncie, Ind., proclaims Bunny, Alice Joyce, Lillian
Walker, Adele DeGarde, Florence Turner and Mary P^uller her choice.

,V'-'C^-.The following verses speak for themselves — and for the writers thereof:

stands for Me.vers, McDennott, too,

A is for Anderson, always true blue ;

U for Urelle, with Gaumont he plays,

R for George Reehni, a favorite always.

I is for Ince, a fine Abe in tlie show,

C stands for Carlyle — Blackwell, you know ;

E that is Earle — it is Williams we mean ;

C is for Chairman, oft seen on the screen.

O without doubt it Is Olcott you see,

S stands for Santley ; Fred quite pleases nie.

T tell me, pray, now which is the best?

E easy? No, let us leave all the rest.

L look now, and find, pray, my Photoshow treasure,

L look, he's an actor who's fine beyond measure;

O h, it's a puzzle to pick out this fellow.
Read top to bottom — you have it — Costello.

EVELYH FABBINOBE.

TO THE MOTION PICTURE QUEEN.
By a Motion Picture Fiend.
'Twas in the merry month of June,
The hour was twelve — precisely noon —
Sweet Alice Joyce was going away.
Our skies seemed cheerless and cold and gray.

Selma, Ala.

The gay town of Los Angeles,
By her presence had been blessed.
She was leaving for New York town;
Even there she had won renown.

Dear, sweet, beautiful Alice,
You are fit to reside in a palace.
And until you return to this beautiful State,
We'll anxiously your arrival await.
Los Angeles, Cal.

TO FRANCIS BUSHMAN.

C. M. Pelleobin.

When on the magic sheet
I catch his eye's bright beams,

I soar above this world of sighs
Into the land of dreams.

For there, before me, moves
An actor, fine and brave;

Each part he plays with skill —

The happy, sad or grave.
New York.

How gentle he can be

With children small and bright!
And how he scores the villain

For his lapses from the right!

Who is this wondrous actor.
Who steals our hearts away?

His name is Francis Bushman,
And he plays with Essanay.

Anna Wbight.

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS

133

Miss Lula M. Lumbert, Hyannis, Mass., calls attention to the fact that the
Photoshows provide entertainment for youths who formerly idled about the
streets :

I-) > .^''■' I've often been out on the streets at night,
^^ And, to my surprise, would see such a sight.
'^ .But now, since the Photosliow came into town,
f. .-^^ -^ The boys have improved — they no longer hang 'round ;
yin\V\ '^x They go to the Photoshow 'most every night,
>•-* . * And sit 'til the manager bids them good-night.
•

Charles "W. Sullivan writes entertainingly from New Orleans of his ex-
periences while visiting picture shows in the South. He tells of going to a
Photoshow with a gentleman, who, after watching the screen in silence for a
time, remarked: "I reckon they must have people act for them, as I've seen
that girl's face before." He imagined that the strenuous camera-man simply
chased down exciting incidents, photographing them as they occurred.

Out of a score of verses indited to charging Mary Pickford, we offer :

We watch the poster every day,

And often feel contrary.
Because we do not see the name —

Our favorite, little Mary. . .

South Bend, Ind. D. B. P.

"Violet" sends greetings to "Mr. Maurice Costello, king of them all, who
captivated the people years ago, and still holds them in his thrall. Stars may
come, and stars may go, and we care not, so long as we have Maurice Costello,
who is able to please both the high and the low. He who can make the mil-
lionaire envious, and can make the poor forget their troubles."

Isn't it fortunate that, "having eyes we see not," as others see?::r-else
would the laurel wreaths all be placed on one brow, to the discomfort, doubt-
less, of the owner of the brow. "Mina" prefers Mr. Richard Neill above all
the other favorites, tuning her harp in Toronto, and sending in these lines to
"dashingR.R. Neill":

The cleverest man that can Edison claim

Is Richard K. Neill, of Photoplay fame.

In Vancouver I've seen him, and also in Maine,

And I hope that some day i shall see him again.

Pittsburg has some picture "fans" as well as smoke and millionaires :

Florence Lawrence is quite charming, with her manner sweet and shy.
And Alice Joyce is pretty, this no one can deny ;
Dolores Cassinelli is a beauty, as I live.

And think of sweet Ruth Roland, and the pleasure she can give.
And there is Mary Fuller, with her naughty, little frown,
I go to see her every time I hear that she's in town.
But there is one girl that I know, with her none can compare,
With her soulful eyes and wistful, and her wealth of raven hair ;
She has loveliness appealing, and the sweetest face I've seen,
Her name is Florence Turner ; she's my Motion Picture queen.
Pittsburg, Pa. Miss H. Claib.

FOR DEAR MISS MARGUERITE SNOW,

Dear, sweet, lovely Marguerite Snow,
Not one can compare with thee, I know;
:.• With face so divine, you all graces combine,

May God keep and bless thee, sweet Marguerite Snow.

Bellville, Ont

{Continued on page 162.)

Hilda Ackebill.

He Forgot That They Were Only Motion Pictures

^rrwmy tuose poortf<JcyolfS^
< \ curMa so ^^^JPC-'i^f, ^

■xJ\\

THE LACK OP TALKING AND NOISE IN THE PICTURES IS SOMETIMES MADE UP
BY A SURPLUS OP TALKING AND NOISE IN THE AUDIENCE

134

This department is for the answering of questions of general Interest only. Involved tech-
nical questions will not be answered. Information as to matrimonial and personal matters
of the players will not be given. A list of all film makers will be supplied to all who enclose
a stamped and self-addressed envelope. No questions answered relating to Biograph
players. Those who desire early replies may enclose a stamped and self-addressed envelope for
answer by mail. Write only on one side of paper, and use separate sheets for questions in-
tended for different departments of this magazine. Always give name of company when
inquiring about plays. If subscribers give name and address and write "Subscriber" at top
of letter, their queries will be given a preference.

M. M. H. — We'll find out for you right away whether Earle Williams can swim;
wait a minute.

J. L. H., Garden City. — The Edison Home projection machine is now on the mar-
ket The price ranges from $60 upward, according to the form of illumination em-
ployed, these being acetylene gas, Nernst lamps or an automatic arc, the last two
taking current from the usual house-wiring. The films cost from $2.50 to $5, according
to length, and are exchangeable at the factory on payment of a small fee if in good
condition. In time it is probable that exchange stations will be provided thruout the
country. The standard width film is used, but on this width are three rows of pictures,
so that a subject running as long as a standard thousand-foot reel occupies only about
80 feet of film. Standard film cannot be used, both on account of size and the different
manner of perforating. A picture four feet wide by three high can be thrown by the arc.

Patricia. — The prettiest Biograph player was not Idlled about a year ago. Per-
sistent rumor had it that way, but we insisted upon saVing her life. Give the name of
a part the Edison player has acted lately and we'll fit a name to him, but "sometimes
plays the villain" is a bit too vague with six companies to pick from each with one
or more villainous actors.

K. C. B.— Miss May Buckley, now in "He Fell in Love with His Wife," is the former
Lubin player.

Kalem Admirer. — ^There are no special release days for certain sections of the
Kalem or other companies. There may be two Glendales one week and none the next.
It is understood that Mr. Blackwell will remain with the Glendale section.

Flossie. — We appreciate your change to illustrated postcards for stationery, but
we hope there is no hidden meaning in your choice of subjects. Since the Answers
Man recently admitted matrimony in these pages your choice of orange blossoms and
lemons miglit be regarded as inspired. Your questions are all answered above.

L. A., New York City. — We do not know of any Western section importing its
riders from New York. No chance for you. Miss Snow is in Thanhouser pictures
"any more." She was doing some specials and appeared in but two in September. In
October she is in five. It happens that way in all companies. "The Texan Twins" is an
exceptionally fine piece of trick photography. Mr. Wilbur played both twins. Henry
Walthall and Miss Jane Fearnley had the leads in Reliance's "The Yeggman." We can-
not name Gaumont players. It is a foreign company.

PiGY W. — "Saved by the Telephone" and the "Suffragette Sheriff" are Kalems.
Miss Alice Joyce played the leads. We do not know Mrs. Costello's maiden name.

M. V. C. — Reliance was working in Palensville this summer. We believe the Vita
was made in and near the home studio. Laura Sawyer had the lead in "For Valor."

M. S., Mobile. — See answer to Flossie. Miss Mayme Kelso was Mrs. Burleigh in
"The Street Singer." She was not in the cast of "Human Hearts." We have not Miss
Snow's stage record. Miss Jane Wolfe had the title in Kalem's "Norma of Norway."

M. P., Philadelphia. — We told Bunny what you said about his taking a bath in
those tiny English bawth tubs and he denied, with a pained smile, that it was that which
drove him back home.

Miss T., New York City. — Of all the foolish lies about photoplayers that we have
heard circulated, the one you inquire about is the worst The rumor is unfounded.

Flossie. — ^The reason Crane Wilbur doesn't act with Miss Pearl White any more is
that she is working in Crystal films, after having been placed, by rumor, with Comet.
Miss Frances Cummings was in Lubin's "Lost Dog." You dont have to sign your letter
"From a Fan." We know it by now.

F. J. S., Pittsburgh. — The exhibitor who gets nothing but commercial film is usually
paying the commercial price. He is not supposed to show M61i6s films with an Independ-
ent program, but some exchanges have a number of old Licensed subjects that they use to
fill out with. Sometimes these are purchased in England and shipped back, sometimes
some dishonest employee of a Licensed exchange or Licensed house takes them, or they
may have been on the market before the Patents Company was formed.

135

136 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

■ J. S., Keeseville. — Possibly Robert Burns would let you have one of those curls if
you asked him, but we doubt it. He is with Vita in Los Angeles. You cannot get
Licensed and Independent subjects on the some program.

QuiTA, MouNE. — Glad you've gotten acquainted with us at last. You've missed
a lot, meantime. The Thanhouser Kid is Marie Eline. Miss Mabel Trunnelle was the
girl in Majestic's "The Moth and the Butterfly" and "The Game of Chess." Her oppo-
site was Herbert Prior. Both are old Edison players. John Adolfl was in Eclair last
we heard. Jack C!onway was Jim in Nestor's "Hard Luck Bill." Miss Vivian Rich
had the title in the same company's "Maude MttUer." If you want to know "lots and lots
more" let's have it on the Instalment plan, please, and always let us have company as
well as play and part.

C. H. E. A., Falmouth. — William Todd and Frederick Church were the two Mexi-
cans in "The Sheriff and His Man." We do not know the nationality of Mr. Anderson's
forebears. The magazine is out about the 15th or 20th of each month. John Bunny is
about five feet six or eight (tall, not wide). Victor makes one release a week, on Fri-
days. We get no casts for C. G. P. C, which are of foreign origin.

Flossie. — Charles Clary had the title role in Selig's "Officer Murray." We have
absolutely no opinion as to the beauty of James Morrison's nose. We dont even recall
whether it is a pug or an old Roman. That "darling" Lubin man is Edgar Jones.

Pat for Short. — The "cute fellow" on page 59 of the October issue is Charles Comp-
ton. We do not give addresses, but if you hang around the gate of the Selig studio long
enough you're likely to see Al Ernest Garcia.

H. H. S., Columbus. — ^The Answers Man appreciates your kind words. We dont
know that Flossie ever wrote a photoplay, but if she ever does we bet she puts Crane
Wilbur in it. The Motion Pictures shown in Cuba, to which the article in The Theatre
makes reference, are mostly produced In France, Germany and Italy. There is no
censorship abroad, and some of the films shown in public in Germany and the Latin
countries are unbelievably vicious. The Blograph has never offered an official explana-
tion of its unwillingness to give the names of Its players. Your suggested explanation
is plausible. We are in sympathy with your plea for more pictures of Ameri-
can cities and places of interest, but the exhibitors want photoplays, so the exchanges
demand them, and the manufacturers meet the demand. We were talking the other
day with B. Nichols, who handles Biograph, Kalem and Lubin for Europe, and he gives
the gratifying information that abroad there is a growing demand for three and four-
hundred-foot scenics that inevitably must find reflection over here.

C. R., Palestine. — In Thanhouser's "The Merchant of Venice," Miss Flo La Badie
was Portia and Miss Mignon Anderson Jessica. Miss Home was not cast.

J. G. L., YoNKERS. — Miss Edna Fisher was opposite Mr. Anderson In "The Oath
of His Office." Miss Lawrence heads her own company, "The Victor."

Flossie. — What, again? The matter of photographs was explained on page 144 of
the October issue, as you probably have seen, but remember that we are trying to please
all. We are willing to admit that Ray Gallagher is simply adorable if it adds to your
happiness. By the way, do you know that you are getting quite frequent?

HiNKY Dink. — We refuse to believe that you are a regular actor. You spoil that
statement by adding that you have money in the bank. The Mace Keystone fllms
started releases September 23d.

C. McC, Buffalo. — Frances Ne Moyer was Sally in Lubin's "Won at High Tide."
Wanted. — Can any reader tell Mrs. J. H. P. about "The Vampire," an old fllm ?
Mrs. J. H. P., Kelso. — Miss Jennie Nelson is with the home section of the Lubin

Company in Philadelphia. The reason you see no California Lubins Is that none are
made there now. The Los Angeles studio turned only out three or four.

D. P., Dallas. — We have not the information you desire.

H. E. M., Rochester. — King Baggot has no double. You refer to a recent picture
in which he played two parts thru double exposures.

J. Sam, Newport. — It was the late Mace Greenleaf who played in the Reliance
with Miss Jane Fearnley.

R. P. T. — We do not place the player you ask for. We were informed that Miss
Gladys Field was going to join the Kalem Company, but we do not find her name in
their casts. Ask something easier than when will Blograph questions be answered. It
would be easier to name the next President.

N. H., New Orleans. — Had not heard of Mr. Anderson's tenth anniversary before.
It looks like a local press scheme. Possibly It's his tenth, year as a photoplayer. We
do not know that Miss Mignon Anderson, of the Thanhouser, is his relative. There
is no lieutenant cast in Bison's "The Lieutenant's Last Fight." William Clifford and
Francis Ford had parts as officers.

Esther, St. Louis. — In Thanhouser's "Treasure Trove" the banker was William Gar-
wood and the sweethearts were Miss Mignon Anderson and E. J. Hayes. We do not
know where it was made. James Cruze was the minister in 'Thanhouser's "The Finger
of Scorn." We have not the cast for the American. Phillips Smalley has left Rejc
go have Miss Weber, Miss Ridgley and Miss Leonard.

As small as your note book and
tells the story better.

The

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A miniature Kodak, so capable that it will convince the experienced
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And the Vest Pocket Kodak is efficient. It is small, almost tiny, but the carefully selected
meniscus achromatic lens insures good work ; the Kodak Ball Bearing shutter with iris diaphragm
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An important feature is that the quality of the work' is so fine, the definition of the lens so
perfect that enlargements may be easily made to any reasonable size, and at small cost — to post
card size (3X * 5}i) for instance, at 15 cents.

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138 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Flossie. — Positively we are ashamed of you for asking a Biograph question. Miss
Marin Sais is with the Kalem section at Santa Barbara, where you will have to go if
you wish to meet Miss Ruth Roland. And on top of that Biograph you ask about a
man in a gray suit! Next time you do this to us we shall limit .vou to one question.

R. Q., Washington. — Franklyn Hall was the husband In Lubin's "The Two-Gun
Sermon." We do not place Mr. Sherwood at present. The enclosed picture did not get
to the Answers Man. We have said before that Owen Moore is with Victor.

J. E. T. — If your inquiries are as courteously phrased as your letter you need have
no fear of being made. ridiculous. When the very evident Intention of a correspondent
is to have fun with the Answers Man he returns the compliment, but he is more
sinned against than sinning. Just as one example, if you could only read some of the
weak imitations of Flossie that come In you would understand. Flossie seems to be
sincere. The others are merely copy acts and unfunny because insincere. Ask all the
questions in reason and we'll be delighted to reply.

Sandcrab. — We give the news as it lies at the moment. Last week Hal Reid was
directing for Champion. This week he is at the head of the Universal Weekly. We
have not seen Wallace Reid cast lately. William Humphrey, the Napoleon of "The
Bogus Napoleon," does not "always" play Napoleon, but he has made a hit with the
character much as Ralph Ince has made Lincoln his other self. We do not think the
two Cassinellis are the same.

Flossie. — ^The "fellow" is some class, as you suggest, but we cant place him from
that half portion picture.

J. J. C, Central Faixs. — We do not keep track of the authors of photoplays, but
Shannon Fife writes most of the Buster stories for the Lubin Company. We do not
place the author of the PathC. As a matter of fact it is seldom that the author is
really the author of the produced play. By the time the editor and director are done
little is left, and more than once an author has seen his play and has not recognized it.
Leaders and letters are taken by a special camera. There are several ways. A printed
card may be photographed for a negative, or the card may be photographed as a positive,
jn which case white letters appear black, or vice versa. Some companies make a lantern
slide and make the insert from that. In any case the material is cut into the proper
lengths, the scene is cut and the inserted part cemented in with acetone cement. As a
general thing photoplay theaters run three or four reels at a performance, tho some
houses offer as many as ten. We think that five reels should be the limit. We saw
5,800 feet the other afternoon and it tired us. Eight without a stop Is almost a torture.

Bebt a. — Julia Swayne Gordon and Tefft Johnson were the two players you mean
in "Lady of the Lake" (Vitagraph). Helen Costello is about twelve. There were
several girls with Alice Joyce in "Rube Marquard Wins." Howard Missimer played
opposite Eleanor Blanchard in "Cupid's Quartette." The child In "Broncho Billy's
Gratitude" is not in the cast. We do not know whether Francis Bushman plays a
violin or not. Of your eleven questions, the last one is the most difficult. In spite
of our complete card index system, colossal flies, we are unable to say whether or not
the favored Flossie C. P. would be willing to correspond with a "black-haired young
man like yourself."

F. L. G. — Instead of "The Price of Vanity" you mean "The Lure of Vanity."
Ralph Ince had the lead.

T. G., Muskogee. — Ruth Roland was Tillie Temple in "The Beauty Parlor of Stone
Gulch." Wallace Reid was the city lover In "The Course of True Love."

1093 B. — Donald Mackenzie was the father in "The Little Wanderer."

H. E. M. — Virginia Chester was the daughter of the sheriff in "The Frenzy of Fire-
water." Paths wont tell. Mae Marsh was the sister to Bob in "Kentucky Girl."

A 1040-10, Brooklyn. — ^There is a flrst-class Independent Theater on Fulton Street,
near Flatbush Avenue.

H. H., Washington Heights. — Bessie Eyton was the Island Maid in "The Love
of an Island Maid" (Selig).

A. L. CoPELAND. — Sirs: Arthur Mackley was the mother of the child in "The
Littlest Sheriff." The child is unknown. Pauline Bush was Mary Waldron, Marshall
Neilon was the cripple brother in "The Will of James Waldron" (American).

A. U. — King Baggot and Jane Feamley were Amy and Jim in "Old Tennessee"
(Imp). Mildred Bracken is Mary, and Florence La Vina is Frances in "The Will of
Destiny." Mildred Bracken was Bee in "The Cowboy Kid." Crane Wilbur played in
"A Ranch Romance."

La Petite. — Jane Fearnley played opposite King Baggot in "A Cave Man's Wooing."

G. G. G., Cincinnati. — Path6 Freres will not give us the information.

Pauline F. — Guy Coombs was the son in "The Spartan Mother." Romaine Field-
ing was the half-breed in "The Half-breed's Treachery."

An American I^\'er. — Jack Richardson was the bandit, Pauline Bush was the
girl, and Warren J. Kerrigan was the lover in "A Life for a Kiss" (American).

M. F., Cablyle. — Helen Costello is the older of the two. Other questions answered.

S. L.— Marie Eline (Thanhouser Kid) was Alice in "The Cry of the Children."

Price 25 Cents a Dozen. 60 Cents a Set

SOLD ONLY BY THE DOZEN AND SET

I Miss Florence Turner 2 Mr. Maurice Costello 3 Mr. Leo Delaney 4 Miss Edith
Halleren 5 Miss Flora Finch 6 Kenneth Casey 7 Miss Edith Storey 8 Miss Rose E.
Tapley 9 Mr. Maurice Costello 10 Mr. Earle Williams U Mr. John Bunny
J2 "Eagle Eye" J3 Mr. Chas. Kent J 4 Miss Clara Kimball Young JSAdelede
Garde 16 " Eagle Eye " 17 Miss Anne Schaefer 18 Mr. Charles Eldridge J9 Mr.
Tom Powers 20 Mr. William Shea 21 Miss Norma Talmadge 22 Miss Rosemary
Theby 23 Mr. Van Dyke Brooke 24 Miss Julia Swayne Gordon 25 Miss Lillian
Walker 26 Mr. James W. Morrison 27 Mr. Ralph Ince 28 Miss FlorenceTurner
29 Mr. John Bunny 30 Miss Zena Kiefe 3J Jean (Vitagraph Dog) 32 Mrs. Mary
Maurice 33 Mr. Tefft Johnson 34 Mr. Harry Morey 35 Mr. Robert Gaillord
36 Miss Leah Baird 37 Mr. W. V. Ranoos 38 Mrs. Kate Price 39 Mr. Marshall
P. Wilder 40 Mr. Wm. Humphrey

Address PUBLICITY DEPARTMENT, VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA
E. 15th STREET and LOCUST AVENUE, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

14Q TEE MOTION PICTURE 8T0BY MAGAZINE

•D.^.iSiV'ifJ/^X.-r^Mr. -Joseph' %ei6hart was the leading man in "Tlie Wooing of
-White'-5B'a,wn." -; r';« ••'-;/ a-'

P.*:A^- Sl^bSfles ^lii^5K*S' j4^ in "The Girl and the Cupola."

L. Jli. ELkirs.— Hiirry Benham'^ was the country sweetheart in "Blossom Time."

MovipHAN. — ^The camera is at fault. Xou are right Jni your presumption. Your Bio-
graph and Path6 questions we cannot answer.

Ft. Dodge, La. — Lubin cannot tell us who^^nio was in "The Seiiorita's Renjorse."

VioLETTA. — Flo La Badie and Harry Ben^^ had thfe'leads in "A Portrait of Queen
Anne" (Thanhouser). „4 *-^^ •- .-'

Doiujgwjd^J^liillian Walker is with-^Mgraph; afliJ^'Francis Bushman is.with the
Essanay 60.; PatiV Panzer was the escaped convict m '*M. Stern Destiny." We do not
thinlc any girl hatf killed herself for Harry Myers yet. The clipping is not of Harry.

Mojii^E T., BrfONx.-j-It was not alHce Joyce tliat was operated upon for appendicitis,
but AnnA'vjJilsson. --Both aire actinif for tb.e l^^lem Co.

'Port, b.^Janej^jfe. wflg" Mi*. "Suinmr^rs in "The Wandering Musician." Other
questions ,an§i^erea jaETof^es?--

H. J. CoBSON. — Wr'ite tqt Be,oiIy of Lubinville as to why Lottie Briscoe never wears
her hat On straight. ' ,Xt)ur other suggestions are good.

'M. ALEXANDER.— afta^-^Sjhagiier-vfae^he leading man In "The Cowboy Kid." Dolores
Cassinelli'pl^s in th^.Baslerh- 'Essanay Co.. Other questions above.

Helen. — The rather "short man with the black hair and short" "black mustache
and a very high nose" must ite- Arthur Mackley. >

"Nobody." — ^The:jpicturji' you send us is Lillian Walker.

RUB.Y G., ABizoisA.^-"i|jerod and the New-born King" was made by the Eclipse Co.

J. H. PECK.-^Rouiii'inS.'^Fielding was the mall-carrier in "In the Drifts," and he also
played in "TJje Soldler':p'Iteturn." We cannot place the player you mean.

E..MvFl6ry.— Jtobert Gaillord was Big Bill in "The Barrier That Was Burned."
Laura Sawyer. waS'iSelen in "Relief of Lucknow."

A. ■JocA.-^"A Tale of Two Cities" was in the May, 1911, issue. -

M.'' fi.' H., Brooklyn. — The reason we do not publish the pictures of people who
pose for song slides is that we have all we can do to take care of the people who pose
for Moving Pictures.

E. B. — Joseph De Grasse was Ralph in "Jealousy on the Ranch" (Path6 Fr6res).

F. H. E. T. — Guy Coombs was Joe in "Soldier Brothers of Susanna." We do not
sell photographs.

W^-C. E.-^Arthur Johnson still acts, and he also directs.

;FRkNx P. — Send $1.65 for. a Talbot book, "How Moving Pictures Are Made and
Worked.-' -See ad. .■ ir ^'-'^ ; =•

V. L. K. — ^Dwight Mead was" the disSattisfled clerk, in "The Legacy of Happiness."

Inez N., Brooklyn.— iDont- worry about over-taxing my generosity. John Bunny
is the only real name he has. No Information whatever on Biograph.

Mary C. — Alice Joyce is not' marfle^.ip Rube Marquatd. 'You shouldn't be asking
such questions, anyway. HStry Morey '*as Dick in "Tlie Barrier That Was Burned."

P. STONE.-^ijfay Buckley is on the stage agiain. Mrs.' Costello acts once in a while.

C. N. B. — ^Your questions all went in the waste-basket. We are pleased to state
that Mrs. J. Arthur Mackley played the part of the mother in the following: "The
Loafer's Mother," "Broncho Billy and the Girl," and "The Story of Montana."

C. H. 902. — The only engagement we know of at present that Alice Joyce has is
to the Kalem Co. Signorita Francesca Bertini was Juliet in "Romeo and Juliet."

A. E. E. — Leonie Flugrath and Robert Tansey had the leads in "The Street Beauti-
ful" (Edison). You can secure back numbers. December, 1911, the first chat
■} J. A., Gal. — ^Florence Turner is not married. See chat in October issue.

Mr. Joseph. — We dont know where you may secure passes to visit Motion Picture
studios. Cannot help you on your other question.

The 'Rah 'Bah Giri^. — Get United Sta,tes stamps.

"Unknown." — Please sign your name. Mary Fuller was the daughter in "An In-
surgent Senator."

1044 J. — Number, please? Send stamped, addressed envelope for list of manu-
facturers. Miss Lawrence has light brown hair.

145 X., Lancaster. — "S." stands for Spoor, and "A." for Anderson" (Essanay).

HiMMELHEiMER. — Dout kuow how many Indians Bison 101 has. Others out of order.

E. C. H., St. Lotns. — Edgar Jones was the minister in "The Two-Gun Ceremony."
Fred O'Beck was the bartender. Bryant Washburn was the young man in "Out of
the Depths." Marion Leonard .had the lead in Rex's "Thru Flaming Gates." Edward
Coxen had the lead in "Thru the Hills."

P. W. F. — Winnifred Greenwood had the lead in "The Blonde" (Selig). Edna
Payne had the lead in "The Half-breed's Treachery."

H. W., Brooklyn. — Ralph Mitchell had the lead in Kalem's "A Mardi-Gras Mix-up."

Marq., M. G. — William Todd was the sheriff in "The Story of Montana." Alice
Joyce was the colonel's daughter in "The Gun Smugglers."

The

Empire State
Engraving Co.

Photo- Engravers

GOOD CUTS

Half-tone and Line Work

For Printing in One or More Colors

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DESIGNING :: :: RETOUCHING

190 WILLIAM STREET
NEW YORK

Here's to Your Success

Mr, Photoplay Wright!

But first, ask yourself, honestly, which troubles you
most when you sit down to write your Photoplay —
low you shall write it, or

WHERE TO r.ET THE PLOT?

Would you like to team where you may pick up
one to ten plots every day of your fife?

HERE'S HOW!

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By HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS

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This book is endorsed and recommended by al
authorities on Photoplaywriting:

"Originality and treatment of PLOT are the essence o
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Send in your order today, and sell your Photo-
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26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Plots Wanted

: : FOR MOTION PICTURE PLAYS : :

You can write them. We teach beginners in ten
easy lessons. We have many successful graduates.
Here are a few of tlieir plays :

"Coronets and Hearts" . . Vitagraph
"A Picture Idol" . . . Vitagraph

''Insanity" . • • • • Lufain
"NeTer Again" .... Kalem
"The Red Trail" . . . Biograph
"lola's Promise" . . . Biograph

"The Timber Thieves" . . Edison
"The Sheriff' .... Edison
"The Fisher Maiden" . . Edison
"A Wooden Indian" . . Edison
"The Red Trail" . . . Biograph
"His Brother" .... SeUg
"The Lineman's Hope" . . Essanay
"The Mysterious Caller" . Vitagraph

"The Schoolmaster's Courtship" Vitagraph
"Small Things They Forgot" . Edison
"The Soldier's Sacrifice" . Vitagraph
"The Proving of a Coward" . Selig
"The Strike Breaker" . . Selig
"Mrs. VanDusen's Diamonds" Kalem
"Aunt Ann" .... Vitagraph
If yon go into this work go into it right. You
cannot learn the art of writing motion picture
plays by a mere reading of textbooks. Yonr actual
original work must be directed, criticised, analyzed
and corrected. This is the only school that delivers
such service and the proof of the correctness of
our mel hods lies in the success of our graduates.
They are selling their plays.

Demand increasing. Farticnlars tree.

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699 SHERIDAN ROAD, CHICAGO

The Big Hit of the Season

A BUTTERFLY

THE WHEEL

A Novel

By c. ranger gull

Author of *^A Woman in the Case" etc.

Founded on the successful play by E. G. Hemmerde,
K. C., M. P., and Francis Neilson, M. P.

WITH PHOTOGRAPHS FROM THE PLAY
12mo. Cloth, $1.25 net

FOR SALE BY Al.l. BOOKSELLERS

WILLIAM RICKEY & COMPANY, PubUshers
43 West 27th Street NEW YORK

142 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

J. H. H., GoLDFiELD, Nev. — Red Wing is a real Indian. Other questions answered.

Girlie Umbiech. — Your otlier questions were probably answered before. Francis
Bushman has no particular leading lady.

C. P. W. — Arthur Johnson has been on the stage before acting in Moving Pictures.

V. B., Pittsburg. — Vitagraph did not produce "The Prize Essay."

Leslie Stud, Tucson. — Jane Wolfe was the gypsy in "Fantasca." William Clif-
ford was Smiling Bob in the play by that title. William Duncan and Myrtle Stedman
had the leads in "Double Cross."

C. H. Selman. — "Uice and Old Shoes" was produced by Lubin Co.

Anxious Fans. — Marguerite Snow was Barbara Drew in "East Lynne." Warren
Kerrigan and Pauline Bush had the leads in "The Marauders."

Elizabeth Baker. — Phyllis Gordon had the leading part in "The Lake of Dreams."
. E. J. — Carlyle Blackwell was Jack Bernard in "The Daughter of the Sheriff."
Harry Benham was the young man in "Big Sister." Darwin Karr and Fannie Simpson
had the leads in "The Equine Spy" (Solax). Path6 wont answer.

Texas Twins. — We have heard nothing of the kind about Vitagraph Company, and
think the report is false. You should not ask questions about relationship. Raymond
Hackett was the child in "A Child's Devotion" (Lubin). Bridget was John E. Bren-
nan, Mrs. Clark was Ruth Roland in "Queen of the Kitchen" (Kalem). Ruth Roland
and Marin Sais were the daughters in "In Peril of Their Lives."

J. H. D., Portland. — The play you mention was a trick picture. They are done in
different ways by various directors. If you have a copy of Talbot's book "How Moving
Pictures Are Made and Worked," you will understand how almost anything is possible.
Many manufacturers do not care to have the public know how they do these trick
pictures.

B. G., Chicago. — ^We cannot help you or any one else to get a position in any of the
Moving Picture companies. We are afraid there is not much chance for you.

Lloyd La Verge, L. — We do not know the reason Alice Joyce left Carlyle Blackwell ;
supiwse Kalem wanted her in New York studio. We shall chat Warren Kerrigan soon.
We'll also try to get a different picture of Maurice Costello.

Marblehead. — The Imp Co. has always been an Independent Co. Vedah Bertram
died of appendicitis. We haven't the name of the company that took the fall round-up
on the Y-6 Ranch.

Southern Lassie. — Edgar Jones and Clara Williams were the leads in "Trustee
of the Law" (Lubin).

R. C, Bloomington. — It would take up too much room to give you the list of plays
you ask. Edwin August is Ormi Hawley's leading man now. William Humphrey and
Clara Kimball Young had the leads in "The Money Kings" (Vitagraph). Leo Delaney
is not with the Helen Gardner Company.

B. R. M. — Clara Williams had the lead in "The Renegades" (Lubin). She formerly
played opposite G. M. Anderson.

K. B. E., Worcester. — Vivian Prescott had the lead in "Leah the Forsaken" (Imp).
We only answer questions pertaining to Motion Pictures, not to the regular stage.
Florence Turner and Maurice Costello, as a rule, play opposite.

Flossie. — ^Texas Twins would like to correspond with you. Carlyle Blackwell has
had several leading ladies ; try to think of the name of the play. We are glad you
like some one else besides Crane. Yes, Augustus Phillips is "a fine player" ; you must
not go "crazy about him."

J. R., Wilmington. — Since you are a beginner, you had better learn the rules. Dont
ask questions about marriage, relationship of players, ages, and Biograph questions.

M. A. S., Northampton. — John R. Cumpson is with the Imp. Co.

Sylvia S., Chicago. — We do not answer questions about the relationship of Florence
Lawrence and Adelaide Lawrence. Because their names are alike, it does not follow
that they are sisters.

Bobby- P. B., Baltimore. — Vedah Bertram was the girl and Brinsley Shaw was the
heavy in "Broncho Billy's Narrow Escape."

Kenneth L., Hartford. — ^Raymond Hackett is the child you mean. He is a regular
Lubin player. The proprietor of the theater in your town selects most of the pictures he
wants, from the exchanges.

C. E. I., Mobile. — Most fire scenes are of real fires. You mean Mary Pickford.

S. E. H., Seattle. — The criticism you mention about "The Pink Pajama Girl" Is
well taken. Inconsistencies often "get by" the best directors.

L. C, Staten Island. — We cannot help you get a position.

E. R. M., Brooklyn. — We have no Leah Winslow with the Vitagraph Co. Irving
White played opposite Ormi Hawley in "The Deceivers." Eleanor Blanchard has never
been with the Path6 Co.

Bert Bunny & Co. — Baby Nelson was the child in "Together" (Lubin). Max Linder
is with the foreign Path6 company, and William Cavanaugh is with the Western Path6
section. It is not known whether there are more Licensed or Independent theaters, but
the best information is that there are more Licensed.

GREAT CROWDS GREET THE RIDGELYS
ALL ALONG THE LINE

DICK RIDGELY and CLEO RIDGELY, who left Brooklyn, N. Y., August 26th, as
representatives of The Motion Picture Story Magazine, on a horseback trip
to San Francisco, Cal., are meeting with tremendous success in all cities which they
visit. Those theaters in which they appear are crowded to the doors, and they are al-
ways given an enthusiastic reception.

On date of writing, October 25th, they are at Pittsburg, Pa., and during the next
two months they will probably pass through the following cities:

PENKSYLVASIA

Pittsburg
AlIoKlicny
McKoes' liocks
Coi-aopolis
AIi(]nii)i)a
Kroodom
Uoclicstcr
New HiiRhton
Rpaver Tails
Ellwood City
New Castle
Sharon

OHIO

Youngstown

Washingtonville

I^isbon

Ilanoverton

Minerva

Malvern

Waynesbiirg

Mineral City

Canton

Massillon

Dalton

Fredericksburg

Mlllersburg

Coshocton

Frazeysburg

Newark

I'ataskala

Columbus

West .Tefferson

Springdeld

Osborn

Dayton

Hrookville

West Alexandria

I-ewisburg

New Paris

I>DIANA

Richmond

Centerville

Germantown Sta.

Milton

Connersville

Glenwood

Rushville

Manilla

Shelbyville

Franklin

Greenwood

Indianapolis

Olinville

Danville

Grecncastle

Knightsville

Brazil

Terre Haute

ILLINOIS

Vermillion

Paris

Kansas

Charleston

Mattoon

Neoga

Bfnngham

Altamont

Vandalia

Mulberry Grove

Smithboro

Keyesport

Shattuc

Central City

Centralia

Hoyleton

Nashville

Coulterville

Sparta

Evansville

Those exhibitors in the above-mentioned cities who desire to make arrangements
with Mr. and Mrs. Ridgely to appear at their theaters, can do so by writing to us
direct.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 COURT STREET, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

144 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

G. F. D., Ohio. — ^Thomas Moore was Kotten, Jr., in "The Girl Strikers." Lottie Pick-
for^^s the girl. Gregory- Doyle is not connected with this department. Alice Joyce is
expsCT^to reniji'iu In New York.

• JIi A. W.,^AN Fb^ncisco.— See chat with Edith Storey in November issue.

"I). M. J-'^WAX'.'^^Harold Lockwood was the player you mean in "His Message"

(Bison- 191 )^t? ' :.

E. M.'C., Nevada. — Hal Reid is directing for Champion Co.

A. G. M., Portland. — ^The two .jockeys were Harry Wulze and Lew Harkness, the
girl was Mae Marsh ; Colonel, William West ; banker, Knute Rahm, in "Kentucky Girl."

Mbs. Moobe, Rochester. — Pauline Bush is with the American Co., but we cannot
give personal addresses. • -. ^ -

Jim a. — You will have to write Kalem and ask how much th6y paid Mr. Marquard,
the baseball player, and how much the flkn "Rube Marquard Wjns" cost them. Perhaps
they will answet, and perhaps they wont.- Why should they? flar^ Myers had the lead
in "What the Driver Saw." - Peter Lang was the driver. Other questions answered.

:SusANNE WEBER.^rCharlesOlary had the lead in both "The Girl with the Lantern"
and "Officer Murray.!' Edna Payne was Mndge in "A Girl's Bravery." Earl Metcalf
was Harry Tennant. Frederick Santley .was Kalem's Bertie, and not Edward Coxen.
Joseph Bebhart had the lead in "The Hand of Destiny." You can get all the magazines
for 1911, except February, July, August and September.

Emma L., Little Rock. — We are glad to have your opinion, but we are trying to
please everybody. You probabl.v know that other people do not all agree with you.

Plairsie 300.— William Clifford was Donald Maynard in ''A Stolen Gray." Fred-
erick Church is the player fm\ mean in Western Essanay. Wallace Reid was Joe in "At
Cripple Creek." We will consider your idea about printing the casts.

Eva, Montreal. — We simply will not answer Biograph questions, that's all. We
have no Bargain Days, on the magazine. It's easy enough to tell that you are a woman.

Annie Law. Briixjepobt. — Jane Fearnley Is with the Imp Co. Mace Greenleaf has
been dead for some time.

E. T., CLEVKLAND.^Howard Missimer was the Wild Man in Essanay's play by that
name, but, usually, he is quite tame.

F. M., HoNESDALE, Pa. — "Release date" means the date that the manufacturer
assigns for' the film to be released by the exchanges. The film is made many months
before it is shown to the public. The film exchanges have them in advance, but they are
not allowed to give them out until the release date. Your other questions cannot be
answered by this department ; you should address the Technical Bureau.

Lee Lash Co. — ^There are several unions and organizations of exhibitors and opera-
tors in nearly every city and State. We cannot give you the addresses of them all. We
do not think they have any "house organ."

V. Fontana, New Obleans. — Marion Leonard had the leads with Rex last year.

L. C, Newark, N. J. — Mabel Trunnelle was Mrs. Vale in "Thorns of Success."

Little Vera. — Write Kalem for portrait of Carlyle Blackwell.

M. A. G., San Francisco. — Look at Alice Jo.vce's chat in August issue.

Genevieve. r..os Angeles. — Bliss Milford was the lead in "The Grandfather."
Mildred Bracken had the lead in "A Romance of Catalina Island" (M61i6s). Mabel
Trunnelle was formerly an Edison player. We shall have pictures of Earle Williams and
Maurice Costello soon.

Victoria L., Brooklyn. — Carlyle Blackwell and Belle Harris had the leads in "The
Frenzy of Firewater." Frances Ne Moyer had the lead in "A Lover's Signal" (Lubin).

Miss Julia, St. Louis. — What advice do you want about our magazine? Be more
definite. Jack Halliday has left Lubin.

A St. Joseph Reader. — We cannot tell the name of the plays from the description.

C. V. R., Worcester. — We cannot print pictures of Biograph players without using
the names. Thank you for the suggestion.

M. D. I., Chicago. — Please give the name of the company.

H. O., Westerly, R. I. — Mabel Normand is posing for the Keystone Co. Orml
Hawley is still with Lubin. No Biograph ???

M. North, Montana. — Herbert Prior was Mr. Vale in "Thorns of Success."

F. F.— Mary Fuller formerly played with the Vitagraph. Mrs. Costello has played
in only two releases.

Celeste W., Muskogee. — Edward Boulden was the clerk in "Cyntha's Agreement"
(Edison).

L. A., Pittsburg. — Gladys Hulette is now on the regular stage. Kenneth Casey is
not a girl. The little sheriff is unknown ; Lewis was Fred Church ; his father, William
Todd ; mother, Mrs. Macklej', and the sheriff. Arthur Mackley, in "The Little Sheriff."

Anxious B. G.— Benjamin Wilson was J. B. Randall In "The Passing of the J. B.
Randall Co." (Edison). Shall print the pictures you ask for soon.

Some Alameda Fans. — Vedah Bertram's picture in August, 1912.

Iowa Gibl. — Read the back numbers. Send your subscription to the same address
you sent the inquiry (26 Court, Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.).

INSTRUCTION

Are You Selling Scenarios

Or Are They Coming Back to You?

Let us tell you what is wrong with your work. We
will correct, criticise and typewrite your scenario, in
proper form to sell, for $2. Expert and honest criti-
cism of any script, $1. (Without typing.)

Complete Book of Instruction, Sample Actual
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script, all for $ 1 .

Your money returned if you are not satisfied with
our service.

Photo-Play Syndicate, Box 20, Cleveland, O.

8CEVARIO WRITKRS, I^OOK ! Has your scenario
come li.ick ? or have you anoilier? I will typewrite, revise,
criticize, correct. i)iit your scenario in saleable form, and advise
where to sell, for 81.^5. Stories put in scenario form $1.7jj,
scenarios criticized 5Uc., including; plot and tecltnlqite; folders
■■llow to Write a Photoplay," "Facts and Pointers," Model
Scenario, List of ISuycrs, &c. In coin ciich. Distant patrons
given special attention. Old Rellnble Paul IV. Itleker,
19:21 Falrmouut Ave., Pliiladelplila, Pa.

YENTRILOaUISN

Almost anyone can learn It at home. Small cost. Send
today 3-cent Btamp for particulars and proof.
O.A.8UITU,Koom\V.i9i823IIlKelowSt.»p£OI£IA,II(Iii

LEARN TO WRITE PHOTO PLAYS

DIftECTlON ARTHUR HELSON. LEADING WRITER AND PRODUCER
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146 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Mas. Trestick, Ldxu Winbebly, S. H., F. H., N. M., G. O., S. B. S., S. S., G. F.,
A. L., G. E., H. F. Mc, K. E. 6., Hinky Dink, Ziver Blackfischer, Marie V., M. L. N.,
A. G., G. D. Norfolk, R. H., R. Lincoln, R. K. Denver. — Your questions have either
been answered before, or are not in compliance with the rules of this department.

G. R. H., Bayfield, Wis. — Joseph De Grasse and Miss Mason were husband and
wife in "A Redman's Friendship" (Path6). Just address the "Answers Man," care of
The Motion Picture Story Magazine, 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

G. K., Brooklyn^ — We do not use Selig pictures. Ray Gallagher was Dick in
"The Cowboy Kid" (M61i6s).

Sallie K. W. — William Barley's picture has never appeared In this magazine.
William Clifford Is with Nestor.

Marjorie M., Montreal. — Please dont ask us how you can get in the pictures.
There's no hope. Rosemary Theby is not with Sellg, but Vitagraph. The letters that
are written in the pictures are usually photographed and filmed after the whole play
has been taken, as are the subtitles. Gilbert Anderson's permanent leading lady has
not been announced as yet.

Elsie, Washington. — The 'girl in "The Arizona Woman" is now unknown to
Essanay. Alice Joyce has not left Kalem.

Gwendolyn, 111. — We cannot answer Bison questions, because no information about
their players could be had during the recent lawsuit. Jack Richardson is always the
villain in the American, and a good one — or, should we say a bad one? The American
Company inform us that there Is no Richard Kerrigan with their company. "A-B"
stands for American Blograpb.

I. M. Inquisitive. — Master Paul Kelly was only a special in the Vitagraph.

Bobby P. B., Baltimore. — "Mammoth Life Savers" was taken at Coney Island by
the Vitagraph Company. John Steppling has returned to the Essanay.

Jim a. & Bert A. — Frederick Church Is the curly-haired man in the Western
Essanay. G. M. Anderson takes all kinds of parts. Vedah Bertram was the girl in
"Broncho Billy's Narrow Escape." The girl in "A Wife of the Hills" is unknown. It
was a real fire in "Fire at Sea" (Path6). But when we say a real fire, we do not
necessarily mean that the whole ship or building burned down. Most manufacturers
do not care to explain how trick pictures are done, or whether they are trick pictures
or not. Newton Smiley was Raven, and Hazel Neason was the girl in "The Lair of
the Wolf" (Kalem).

L. V. D. Holden. — Julia Mackley and Edna Fisher were the mother and sweet-
heart in "The Sheepman's Escape" (Essanay). ■

Edith. — Bertha Blanchard was the wealthy lady in Thanhouser's "That's Happi-
ness." William Garwood was the son. F. Foster was David in the first reel, and
Edward Genung was David in the third reel in "David Copperfield" (Thanhouser).

A. C. Sterling. — William Garwood was John Henderson in "A Six Cylinder
Elopement" ( Thanliouser ) .

No. 666, St. Louis. — Burt King was the detective, Adele Lane the sister, and
Romaine Fielding the brother in "Detective's Conscience." Frank Tobin and Kathlyn
Williams were the leads in "The House of His Master." In "The Reporter Girl's Big
Scoop," Natalie Carlton was the heiress, and Stuart Holmes the count. Ormi Hawley
had the lead in "Betty and the Roses." You mean Frederick Church in "Alkali Ike
Plays the Devil." Mrs. Wm. Todd was the girl. Francis Bushman had the lead in
"White Roses." Florence La Badie was Undine in Thanhouser's "Undine." Mar-
guerite Snow was Berthalda. Anna Nilsson and Hal Clements had the leads in "The
Grit of the Girl Telegrapher" (Kalem).

"DiGHY Reader," Dighy. — Leo Delaney was Nello in "The Answer of the Roses."

NuNCY, New Orleans. — You will have to learn that the players change from
one company to another for various reasons, and that is why you see Biograph players
with Imp. Louise Glaum was Mabel Jones in "Those Love-Sick Cowboys" (Nestor).

F. WiLLABD, Cambridge. — Harry Wulze played Shorty in "Kentucky Girl" (Kalem).
Edna Payne the daughter In "Moonshiner's Daughter" (Lubin).

Interested. — Joseph Gebhart was Bull Moose in "The Penalty Paid" (Path6).

"Many Thanks." — William Duncan was the son in "The Cowboy Mother."

T. S. De Soto. — We have not Dorothy Phillips' whereabouts. Winnlfred Green-
wood was not in the Edison play you mention. Edythe Lyle was the wife in "The
District Attorney's Conscience" (Reliance). Frances Ne Moyer and Roy McKee had
the leads in "The Lover's Signal." Roswell Johnson was Buster in "When Buster
Went to Dreamland." Mrs. B. F. Clinton was Earle Williams' mother in "One Touch
of Nature Makes the Whole World Kin." The name Vitagraph was very appropriately
thought of and aptly applied: Vita (Life). Orapho (To write) equals Life Writings.
Use any kind of paper when sending in your questions.

R. R. P., Conn. — Nothing doing with the Bison question. They are either too
busy with the lawyers, or else they are copying Biograph.

F. M. G., Chicago.— Lottie Briscoe had the lead in "The Spoiled Child."

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148 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

E. T., The Movie Girl. — Edwin August and Ormi Hawley had the leads -in "The
Plaj'ers." Myrtle Stedman and Wni. Duncan had the leads in "The Cattle Rustlers."
Henry Walthall was the son In "Mother" (Reliance). Carl Winterhoof had the lead
in "Into the Genuine" (Selig). Tes, Mr. Bushman is with the Chicago Essanay.

Fix)SSiE C. P., Cincinnati. — Madam, you are deceiving me. You are not the
original Flossie. Florence Barker Is with Powers. Dorothy Phillips was Dorothy in
"A Burglarized Burglar" (Essanay). Mable Moore was Mable in "A False Suspicion."
Ormi Hawley was Ruth in "The Cure of John Douglas." Carlyle Blackwell had the
lead in '"'Fantasca, the Gypsy." John Halliday was Tomasino in "My Brother Agostino."

L. R. — James Morrison was the cowboy in American's "The Greaser and the Weak-
ling." Other questions elsewhere. The Rex Company will not give out any information
'about "The Ghost of a Bargain."

Kitty W. — Earle Williams Is not at all "stuck-up." He has lots of admirers.
Darwin Karr is with the Solax Company. Arthur Maekley was the smuggler in "The
Smuggler's Daughter." Thanks for the "Yankee Dime."

E. S. C, Staten Island. — Edgar Jones was Bob in "A Trustee of the Law." In
Thanhouser's "Her Secret," Harry Benham was the husband, and Mignon Anderson
the wife. Alice and Hall were Blanche Cornwall and Darwin Karr in "The Wooing
of Alice." Jack Richardson played the ranger in "The Vengeance That Failed."

Gertrude. — Alice Joyce was the daughter in "The Gun Smugglers." Beverly Bayne
was Becky in "The Return of Becky." Clara Williams was the lead in "Circle C
Ranch's Wedding Present" (Essanay). Leona Flugrath was Rosa in "The Street
Beautiful" (Edison). Kate Winston was Mary in "An Apache Renegade." Leo
Delaney should have been in the place of Charles Kent in the cast in the magazine
under "As You Like It." Brooks was Brooks McCloskey, and Henrietta was Henrietta
O'Beck in "When Buster Went to Dreamland." Lola was Gene De Lespin in "The
Thorns of Success" (Majestic). Edna Hammel the child, and Bliss Milford the
mother in "The Grandfather" (Edison). Ormi Hawley had the lead in "The Deceivers."

Tommy Rott, Cal. — In Victor's "The Winning Punch," the boy that was presented
with the winning punch is not in the cast. F. A. Newburg was Rowland in Vitagraph's
"Written In the Sand."

R. G., New York. — Warren J. Kerrigan was the cowboy in "Outlaw Colony." Re-
public does not answer on "The Girl in the Auto."

H. T. P. Jackson. — Charles Herman and Julia Hurley were the old man and old
woman in Reliance's "Cuckoo Clock." Comet is also behind in answering our questions.

M. C. Dayton. — Sorry, but nothing doing on the Rex questions. Their publicity
man is not feeling well.

"Beth," Columbus.-^FIo La Badie was the wife in "A Wrecked Taxi." William
Russell was her husband. Gaumont pictures are taken abroad. Will soon be able
to answer questions about their players. Did you say Owen Moore and Mary Plckford
were married? Shocking.

H. Kahn, N. Y. C. — "Love Will Tell" is not an Essanay. Other ?? barred.

Diana D. — Judging from the pictures we see, Harry Myers and Edwin August
dance. Neither of them directs plays. The "grand-looking blond man with the darkish
eyebrows who plays sort of villainous parts in the Victor" is unknown.

J. C. J. — In "Jim's Wife" (Edison), George Lessey and Miriam Nesbitt had the
leads. Willliam Duncan was the leading man in "Brand Blotter." . Motion Picture
films are 1% inches wide.

F. D. Otumeva. — The little boy and girl In Pathfi's "Anguished Hours" are unknown.
Unsigned, Chicago. — Please sign your letters. The Thanhouser question has been

answered before. Lubin does not know the cast in "Seilorita's Butterfly." And the Rex
question cannot be answered, for reasons hereinbefore set forth, as the lawyers say.

W. J. K. — William Garwood was Bertie in "Under Two Flags." William Russell
was the colonel. We dont know whether the "Virginian" ha.s been done in pictures or
not. Your other questions cannot be answered at present. See Warren Kerrigan's
picture in "Gallery."

I-I. E. R. — John Adolphi's whereabouts are not known.

L. M. A., Texas. — ^The date on the calendar in the pictures is not necessarily the
day on which the picture is taken. Your second question is not clear. Vitagraph's
"A Tale of Two Cities" is over a year and a half old.

Charlotte D. — Frederick Church was the artist in "A Moonshiner's Heart." Jack
Halliday was the doctor in "Betty and the Doctor." He is not with Lubin now. Edgar
Jones was the deputy in "A Deputy's Peril" (Lubin). G. M. Anderson is not of
Swedish parentage. Carlyle Blackwell had the lead in "The Frenzy of Firewater."

M. B. A. & F. E. A., Tampa. — "Her Secret" was a Thanhouser, not Nestor. Mignon
Anderson was the daughter.

Maybei.l Marie. — Harry Benham was Tom in "Why Tom Signed the Pledge."
"Inquiry Dept." is not necessary on the envelope, but advisable. If the inquiry gets
in the wrong department it soon gets to the Answer Man's desk.

Hears Church Bells After Long Deafness

For tlie first time in years, this good lady,
who has been deaf, hears the church bells.
She is in ecstasy. Only this morning has
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T\vent\-thrce years ago she first found her-
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oflfer will bring joy to many homes.

150 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

L. D. OxNAKD. — See Rex answers above.

E. L. B., Cleveland. — Florence La Badie and James Cruze had the leads In "Called
Back" (Thanhouser). Nestor's Information bureau Is out ot, order.

"Happy," Brooklyn. — Grace Scott Is with Lubin. We cant give her stage career.

Hope and Faith, San Francisco. — Frederick Church was the loafer in "The
Loafer's Mother." Ask editor Brewster for a G. M. Anderson chat.

E. J. D., Chicago. — Martha Kussell was the leading lady in "Twilight" (Essanay).

Diana D., Hot Springs. — We presume Harry Myers and EMwin August are good
friends. Why not? Edwin has left Lubin, but Harry stays. Path6 Fr6r6s will not
answer any questions about their leading ladies.

An Asbury Park Curl. — Cines pictures are made abroad, and we cannot give you
the cast you ask for. Frances Ne Moyer was the daughter and Thomas Aiken the
captain in "The Smuggler's Daughter" (Lubin). Vedah Bertram was the daughter
in "The Smuggler's Daughter" (Essanay).

Dolly W. — Cleo Ridgely is not acting for any company. She is riding across the
continent on horseback with her husband at present. See "Greenroom Jottings" for
latest news about Mary Pickford.

Flossie. — Dont know, Flossie, why Van Brook plays such mean parts. I'm glad
you like his name. Some prefer Van Dyke Brown. You haven't given up Crane
Wilbur for Ray Gallagher, have you?

L. La Vergne L. — No, there are not two Harry Myers; one is Charles Arthur.
Jack Standing is in California playing on the stage.

Lola B. B. — Oh, no! we never get tired of questions. Dolores Cassinelli is not
ill, nor is Florence Lawrence. Flossie C. P. evidently lives In Los Angeles, altho that
question is not in our line.

P. C, N. Y. C. — The information you ask is not obtainable.

J. H. FiTZ, La Payette. — Thanks for your lengthy and interesting letter.

Pauline B. C. P. — Mabel Normand and Fred Mace are with Keystone. Adele
De Garde became a member of Vitagraph because of her talent, we suppose. Look
elsewhere for other ???.

Abbie R., Penn. — May Buckley had the lead in "Betty and the Doctor." Lillian
Christy is Carlyle Blackwell's leading lady. George Lessey was the lead in "Tony's
Oath of Vengeance" (Edison). He also had the lead in "Corsican Brothers." Lillian
Walker is still with the Vitagraph.

Marie, St. Louis. — Guy Coombs Is still with Kalem, and as for Mary Pickford,
she has left Biograph; and now, you want to know about Henry Walthall? We cant
tell you! Understand?

Heline, N. J. — Gilbert Anderson is stationed at Niles, Cal. We accept only players'
pictures from the companies to which they belong.

Maky p., Allegheny. — Maurice Costello's father was Spanish-Irish, and his
mother Irish. Write to the company for players' pictures.

L. R. T. — What company? We dont know what you mean.

Mabelle G. p. — Barbara Tennant was the girl In Eclair's "Robin Hood." Whitney
Raymond is with Essanay. Helen Gardner has not released her first picture as yet
Tiresome waiting, isn^ it?

Orrie L. — Alice Weeks was Thelma in Reliance's "Thelma."

Helen of Peru. — Lucille was Marguerite Snow ; Constance, Mignon Anderson ; Ma-
tilda, Florence La Badie in "Lucille." The address of Thanhouser Is New Rochelle. N. Y.

G. A. J., Dallas. — ^Norma Talmadge marries Leo Delaney in "The Extension Table."

V. S., I^s Angeles. — ^We may be able to print Mary Plekford's picture some time,
but we cant just say when. We cannot go into the detail of how the pictures are taken.
Why not get Talbot's book?

"WiNNYE. — You will have to go to California to get acquainted with Warren Ker-
rigan. My name? It's Answers Man at every meal. Carlyle Blackwell has already
been interviewed in the July, 1912, issue. No, we do not agree with you; Crane Wilbur
is not a "perfect lady."

Marjorie, Newark. — No, Carlyle Blackwell was not in Newark, in the Elite Theater,
on Saturday, September 28th, at one o'clock. At that particular minute he was in
California, but we are not sure about the particular spot

Flossie. — Margaret Loveridge is with Keystone. Her interview will soon appear.
You say you live on the same street with her? You were born under a lucky star.

C. Mc, N. Y. C.^John Bunny is with the Vitagi-aph, and not with the Essanay.
That was Joseph Allen as the Boob's father in "Adamless Eden." Florence Turner is
acting every day.

L. La Vergne L. — Mabel Normand was the lead in "A Water Nymph" (Keystone).

J. W. S. — You have the Imp Cor'pany placed correctly.

G. I. Y., Cal. — Leona Flugrath was Rosa in "The Street Beautiful." Owen Moore
had the lead in "The Chance Shot" Mabel Trunnelle had the lead in "A Game of
Chess." Augustus Carney is Alkali Ike. No Biograph questions, please. Why persist?"

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M. P. Mir.i:«£R CO., Bo3c: 2.»4, MuHkeiron, Mich.

152 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

A. F., Brooklyn. — Send stamped, addressed envelope for list.

Smith, New Jersey. — Myrtle Stednian and William Duncan had the leading parts
in "The Wayfarer."

Picture Fan, Danbury. — Path6 Frt^ri-s took pictures of tlie World's Championship
ball games.

The Twins. — Martha Russell was Rose in "The End of the Feud." Margaret Joslln
was the girl in "Love on Tough Luck Ranch." Mildred Weston was Billy Mason's oppo-
site in "Cupid's Quartette." Charles Clary and Winnifred Greenwood had the leading
parts in "Under Suspicion." Harry Myers and Charles Arthur are still with Lubin.
Hazel Neason was the lead in "The Thief," Marion Cooper and Guy Coombs the boy
and girl In "A Railroad Lochinvar," Adelaide Lawrence the child in "The Little
Wanderer." J. P. McGowan was the lead in "Winning a Widow." Edgar Jones was
the doctor in "The Physician of Silver Gulch." And — the last — Jane Gale was the
girl in "Stubbornness of Youth." It's a good thing you are twins!

F. S., Mass. — Jack Richardson is the American villain.

ViRGiE, New Orleans. — Gladys Wayne was Betty in "Betty Fools Dear Old Dad."

Blanche L., Kans. — We cannot help you place scenarios. See "Ghosts" in October
issue for form. List of manufacturers, if you send a stamped, addressed envelope.

H. JI., Ga. — Bison 101 pictures are taken in California.

NuNCY. — Earle Metcalf and Edna Payne had the leads in "A Girl's Bravery."

An Interested Reader. — Your questions have been answered before, and you
should not ask about relationship.

I. M. P., Chicago. — Adrienne Kroell had the lead in "Into the Genuine."

R. W., Hot Springs. — J. P. McGowan and Gene Gauntier had the leads in "Cap-
tured by Bedouins." Lottie Pickford was with Kalem last. We never see the players'
envelopes, so cannot tell you who the highest salaried player is. Probably Florence
Lawrence and Maurice Costello. Kate, in Champion's "Sisters," was Barbara Tennant.

F. H. W., Louisville. — Thomas Santschi was Tom Byrne in "Sergeant Tom Byrne
of the N. W. M. P." William Duncan was Billy in "An Equine Hero" (Selig). Thank
you for your information.

Bobby P. B. — Mary Fuller was Eliza, Carlyle Blackwell was Shelby, and Topsy
was Florence Turner in Vitagraph's "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

R. R. P., Boston. — The wife in "The Wife of the Foothills" is not known. Vedah
Bertram was the Indian maid in "Broncho Billy and the Indian." Alice Joyce was the
sheriff in "The Sufifragette Sheriff." William Clifford was the sheriff in "The Sheriff's
Roundup" (Nestor). Gene Gauntier was the girl in "The Bravest Girl in the South."
Clara Williams was the daughter in "The Sheriff's Daughter" (Lubin). Baby Audrey
was the child in "The Child of the Purple Sage."

"BiLLiE," PiQUA. — Charles Elder was the doctor in "The Will of Destiny" (Melius).
Burt King and Adele Lane had the leads in "The Detective's Conscience." Martha
Russell was Mr. Bushman's wife in "Her Hour of Triumph." Gertrude Robinson was
the lead in "Grandpa." and Cliarles Herman was the son-in-law. Zena Keefe had the
lead in "Gambler" (Vitagraph). Hal Reid was Rip Van Winkle, and Sue Balfour was
his wife in "Rip Van Winkle" (Reliance). George Periolat and Louise Lester were
the father and mother in "An Evil Inheritance" (American).

J. W., Duluth. — Billy Quirk is still with Solas. He had the lead in "The Profes-
sor's Daughter" (Pathg). He has had stage experience.

C. C, Rochester. — Miss Glahm and Joseph De Grasse had the leads in "The $2500
Bride" (Pathe). George Beatty was just hired for the occasion. Marion Cooper was
Undine in "Saved from Court-Martial." Mr. Kimball is correct, not James Young, as
Senator Carter in "A Vitagraph Romance."

Cope, Rochester. — Bertram R. Brooker wrote the Lambert Chase stories. "The
Mystery Play" was written in our office. Cleo Ridgely did not go thru Rochester.

D. B., San Francisco. — Kate Winston played opposite Carlyle Blackwell in "Apache
. Renegade." Edgar Jones was the detective in "The Sheriff's Daughter." Carlyle Black-
well was chatted in July, 1912.

M. J., Brooklyn. — Read the index page about accepting stories.
J. G., Danviixe. — Charles K. French is with Pathfi Freres.

G. M., Hartford. — The players receive from $25 a week up.

Phillips, Cambridge. — The two characters were played by Crane Wilbur in "Texas
Twins." It is called "double exposure" and has been explained in back numbers.
E.. L., Brooklyn. — Carlyle Blackwell was Simple Sam in "Suffragette Sheriff."
E.' S. A. — P. C. Hartigan was Pete in "The Mine Swindler." Nancy Avrill was the
girl in "Country and Church" (Edison). Hazel Neason was Millie in "How Millie
Became an Actress" (Vitagraph). The spinster sister-in-law was Jane Wolfe in "The
Suffragette Sheriff."

D. B. Hammond. — Victor releases one picture a week.

E. R., Chicago.— Essanay did not produce "Alkali Pete's Wife."
E. J. — ^Path6 FrSres did not produce "Indian Idyll."

EDITORIAL ANNOUNCEMENTS

The next number of The MotION PICTURE StoRY MAGAZINE will come
out about a week before Christmas and will be called the

HOLIDAY NUMBER

It will contziin severed poems, stories and drawings appropriate to the holiday season, includ-
ing a Christmeis Tree, drawn by A. B. Shults, containing the portreuts in miniature of meuiy popular
players.

MONTANYE PERRY

LEONA RADNOR

EMMETT CAMPBELL HALL

Among our noted contributors to this superb number will be:

COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER
HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS
ROBERT CARLTON BROWN
GLADYS ROOSEVELT

MONTANYE PERRY
LEONA RADNOR
EMMETT CAMPBELL HALL
EDWIN M. LA ROCHE

and many others

As these writers are well known to our readers and to the general public, they will need no
introduction. We are constantly striving to get together the best staff of fiction writers in this
country. Among the stories promised for the near future cure one by RE!X BELA.CH, and one

by WILL CARLETON.

The Holiday Number will be a very large edition, but the prospects are that it will not
long remain on the stands. Thouseinds of newsstands sold out our November number before it
had been on sale a week, and they could not get any more magazines because the edition was
exhausted. History will probably repeat itself on the Holiday Number, so you had better
order now from your dealer. Or, better still, subscribe ! Read elsewhere how to do it,
cuid of the advantages of being a subscriber.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

154 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

A. M., On a Visit. — Thank you. "Buy Me Some Ice" was an Essanay. The real
title was "The Ice Man."

I. M. A., Minn. — Your questions have all been answered.

M. E. K., Chicago. — William Duncan was "Jim" in "The Brand Blotter."

Bebt, Bunny & Co. — Joseph De Grasse was the husband in "His Wife's Sweetheart"
Robert Burns was the husband in "Over the Hills to the Poorhouse." It would be out
of order if "Bunny's Kids" were not fat lllie himself. In the first place, is he married?
Flora Finch does not talce daily exercises to lieep herself thin. And Mildred Weston
was the blonde in "Pa Trubell's Troubles," opposite William Mason.

C. T. B. — Thomas Moore was the bool£keeper in "The Boolskeeper" (Kalem).
Prlscilla and John Casperson were the children in "A Child's Prayer" (Lubin).

C. H., Auburn. — In "The Polo Substitute" William Santschi was Smart, and Hobart
Bosworth was Probyn. Sorrento, the outlaw, was Romaine Fielding, and Burton King
was Bonita in "The Ranger's Reward." Clara Williams and Edgar Jones had the
leads in "The Deputy's Peril." Brinsley Shaw was Broncho Billy's pal in the play
by that name. Van Dorn was Guy Coombs ; Frost, Hal Clements ; and Charlotte, Anna
Nilsson in "The Siege of Petersburg."

Lottie D. F., Goldfield. — Edgar Jones was Manuel in "The Divine Solution."
Robert Burns was Bob in "His Vacation." Helen Gardner is not back with Vitagraph.

Betty W. B. — Earle Foxe was Karl in "The Street Singer." The smaller of the
two girls in "A Mid-Winter Night's Dream" was Helen Martin. Dont ask PathS
questions, if you can possibly help it. Laura Sawyer was the sister, Guy Hediund the
brother in "His Secretary" (Edison). Bryant Washburn is still with the Essanay.
"The beautiful Tillie with the swell hair-dress" was Ruth Roland in "Tillie Taylor's
Beauty Parlor."

D. H. "Than-Phan." — In "His Father's Son," Gene Darnell had the lead, and
ill "Only a Miller's Daughter" Grace Nile had the lead. We have not heard of Marion
Leonard's whereabouts.

C. M.^Paul Panzer played the title rdle in "The Desperado" (Pathg).

Bridgeport Reader. — Sorry we cannot accommodate you by printing the pictures of
Selig players. We do not cover that company's pictures. William Duncan was Billy
in "The Fighting Instinct." Helen Gardner's company will be Independent. There
can be no more Licensed companies.

Helen D., Schenectady. — Wallace Reld Is with Universal. The Champion is slow
giving information; therefore your question remains unanswered. Sorry.

Sophie N., Wilmington. — Mildred Weston was Ruth in "A Record Romance."
Juanita was Clara Williams in "The Divine Solution." Mabel Trunnelle was Patience
in "The Little Quakeress."

E. J., New York. — Phyllis Gordon and Tom Santschi had the leads in "Lake of
Dreams." Mr. Johnson was the villain in Path6's "Saved at the Altar."

R. M., Muncie. — Phillip Smalley and Lois Weber had the leads in "The Greater
Christian" (Rex). Tale Boss did not play in "Treasure Island." Crane Wilbur is still
with Paths. Alice Joyce played Jean in "Jean of the Jail." Please write your ques-
tions on a letter and not on postals.

I. B. — Florence Hackett was the teacher in "Spoiled Child." "Paid in His Own
Coin" was not an Edison. Herbert Prior had the male lead in "The Little Quakeress."
You mean Ormi Hawley. A poor way to describe her. The play was "Physician's
Honor." No! we do not answer Biograph questions.

Gertrude. — Jack Richardson was the gun man in "The Gun Man." Signorita Ber-
tini was Juliet in "Romeo and Juliet" (Path6). Laura Sawyer was Helen in "The
Relief of Lucknow." Mrs. Maurice Costello was the telephone operator in "Diamond
Cut Diamond" (Vitagraph).

"Three Love-Sick Guys." — ^You have our sympathy. Ormi Hawley is well, thank you.

Olga 16. — The confederate was Guy Coombs in "The Confederate Ironclad." His
sweetheart was Anna Q. Nilsson. Slivers was E. H. Calvert in "The Redemption of
Slivers" (Essanay). Mrs. Costello is never featured. She is not a regular player.

M. M. M. — We shall print Helen Oostello's picture soon. The little girl in "Broncho
Bill for Sheriff" is unknown.

I. F., Buffalo. — Look above.

DoTTiE C. B. — We cannot supply you with the Path6 information.

S. S. G., McKeesport. — Yes, Edwin August was with Biograph. Edwin Carewe was
John in "A Girl's Bravery" (Lubin). Thomas Moore had the lead in "The Thief."

C. C. S., Belleville. — T. J. Carrigan was the prince in "Cinderella." In "Back to
the Old Farm," William Bailey was George Randall, Frank Clayton was E. Calvert.

E. A. P. — G. M. Anderson is not dead.

E. E. M., New York City. — Bliss Milford was Julia in "The Grandfather" (Edison).

T. A. M., San Francisco. — James W. Morrison has brown eyes. Edith Storey is
still with the Vitagraph Company. John Halliday is in Cleveland, on the stage.

B. J. C, Lincoln. — Your questions are not permissible.

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156 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

A. O. V. B. — ^The late Vedah Bertram lived in Niles, Cal., wliile playing with tlie
Essanay. Slie died of appendicitis. George Reelnn liad the lead in "All in the Wash."
Marc McDerinott was the grandfather in "Sunset Gun."

Champion, Westerly. — Helen Gardner was the wife in "The Miracle." Leah Baird
owned the "living child." Winnifred Greenwood was the dancer in "The Last Dance."
Allan Mathes was the minister.

F. F. A., Newton. — We dont answer questions about the stage; all we can do to
keep track of Moving Pictures — they move so fast.

A. K. — We believe Florence Turner tries to answer the letters she receives. There
are two Costello children.

D. C, Miss. — No, Flossie C. P. does not own any interest in this magazine. We
have not heard much of her this month. Too bad. She will be missed.

R. R. P., Stamford. — Arthur Mackley was the ranchman in "The Shotgun Ranch-
man" (Essanay) ; Jack Richardson the greaser in "The Greaser and the Weakling";
Edna Fisher the girl in "The Tenderfoot Foreman."

A. Z. M. M. — Some of the recent Lubin plays in which Edwin August has appeared
are: "The End of the Quest," "The Good-for-Nothlng," and "The Players."

M. G., Salem. — Bobby, in "Bobby's Father," is Dolores Costello. She is the
daughter, and not the son of Maurice Costello.

C. J., St. Louis. — Edison Company have taken several pictures abroad. G. M.
Anderson is still acting.

Vedah II. — The first Motion Picture Story Magazine was published February,
1911. Pauline Bush is still with the American, and Harry Myers is still with Lubin.

N. C. — Warren Kerrigan, we believe, has brown eyes.

M. L., New York. — Yes, Hazel Neason had the lead in "A Political Kidnapping."

School Girl, Buffalo. — Lillian Walker is not dead; she is playing every day.

F. W. H. S. — George Cooper was the tramp in "Captain Barnacle's Waif." Roger
Lytton was Le Roy Farley, and E. K. Lincoln was Harry Weston In "Irony of Fate."

M. D., Akron. — In "The District Attorney's Conscience," Henry Walthall was Mr.
Burr. We have not published Lottie Pickford's photo yet, but soon.

M. W. G., Texas. — We have never printed any of the stories you mention.

P. M. It., Westerly. — Mrs. Maurice Costello was not the stenographer, but the
telephone operator in "Diamond Cut Diamond." Jerold Hevener was the "funny
character" in "A Windy Day" (Lubin).

1913. Westerley. — Dear me, no; we did not mean that Alice Joyce and Rube
Marquard are married, but that they acted in the same play. Marion Cooper played
opposite Guy Coombs in "The Bugler of Battery B." Note — bugler, not burglar.

H. A. W., 1533. — We do not give the private addresses of players. Mona Dark-
feather Is with Universal.

C. L. M., Salem. — You evidently want a list of manufacturers.

{Continued from page 80.) comforted, grasping his arm a little

later in the day, at the field-hospital, tighter, "and sleepy, lovely Arden,

whither they had taken Harvey, that and most of the dear old folks."

the boy would soon be all right again "Dear old Steve," he said, remem-

after a trifling surgical operation. He bering. ' ' I never knew what became

was taken to the hospital at Memphis, of him. "

and soon after rejoined his regiment. She shuddered.

There had arisen a stern need for "Are you cold, dear?" he asked,

every true son of the South, whether "I was thinking of that day in the

he be but a boy scarcely in his teens cabin," she faltered, "of how close to

or a recruit from the hospital. death "

« "Never recall it again," he said,

The sun was setting on an autumn almost sternly, then placed his hands

afternoon in the year of '65. The tenderly on her shoulders. "After

Trysting Garden was upgrown with all, dear, do you remember where we

weeds and brambles. Its desolation are? In the Trysting Garden, where

was disturbed by the advent of a we left off years ago. "

sun-browned soldier and a slip of a "Yes, yes!" she cried, with sud-

girl fondly leaning on his arm. denly radiant eyes; "we are still

"It is all over now," he said; young, and will build our happiness

"nothing is left." upon the sweetness and the sorrow of

"But the land is still here," she the past."

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158 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

P. C, Texas. — The New York Motion Picture Company will hereafter rele^e
Kay-Bee films, while the Universal will release Bison 101. Francis Ford is ixyCdW-
fornia with the New Yorli Motion Picture Company. y

O. B., Texas. — Both the Kay-Bee and the Bison have real Indian actors.

B. J. Williams. — Write to Earle Williams at the Vitagraph for his autograph, en-
closing stamped, addressed envelope. He may give it to you. He is awfully nice that way.

L. H. P., New Yobk City. — Did you send a stamped, addressed envelope? If so,
send a special delivery asking the company to notify you about your manuscript.

Little Rose, New Yobk. — William West was Outlaw Bill in the play by that name.

Harold, Brooklyn. — The season for plays containing winter scenes is now open.
Your other questioi^ are for the Technical Bureau.

E. K., Bridgeport. — No license is necessary in order to send different plays to
different companies.

Vedah II. — William Humphrey was Napoleon in "A Bogus Napoleon." Your other
questions have all been answered before.

M. P., Ga. — Miriam Nesbitt was "Jim's Wife." Kate Winston was Mary Simmons
in "The Apache Renegade." Mrs. Mary Maurice is not Maurice Costello's mother.

J. A. G. T. — James Morrison was Aubrey, the artist, in "The Adventure of an
Italian Model" (Vitagraph). We dont think Flossie would care to have us give you
her address.

B. R., Elmira. — ^Alice Joyce was Papita in "The Street Singer."

L. E. W., Texas. — Jack Richardson was the villain in "Vengeance That Failed."
Marshall Nielan was the cripple, and Pauline Bush his sister in "The Will of James
Waldron." The American Company informs us that Warren Kerrigan's brother is
not playing, reports to the contrary, notwithstanding.

Anna M. — Kathlyn Williams and Charles Clary had the leads in "The Devil,
Servant and the Man." ,

E. D. Ashland. — Irving .White played opposite Ormi Hawley in "The Deceivers."
A theater can have both branches of the Independent companies. In "An Aeroplane
Romance," the minister really went up in the aeroplane.

G. A. C, Montreal. — We believe both the Kalem and Biograph companies are
in the market for scripts.

Diana D. — Lubin's "Romance of the Coast" was taken in Cape Cottage, Maine.
Yes, Edwin August, Ethel Clayton and Harry Myers can swim!

Olga 16. — "Flirt or Heroine" was taken in Brooklyn. Dont you know, Olga, It's
against the rules to even say Biograph?

Marie K., Cincinnati. — A picture of James Cruze was published in the May, 1912.
issue. Warren Kerrigan in December. .Mignon Anderson and William Russell had the
leads in "Orator" (Thanhouser).

W. P. Girl. — In Vitagraph's "Thou Shalt Not Covet," the price of the bracelet was
$250, and Bunny paid $150 for it. Howard Mitchell was the thief in "A Missing Finger."

W. D., Leavenworth. — Eleanor Blanchard was the widow in "A Lucky Jlixup"
(Essanay). Roy Clark was the little boy in "A Waif of the Sea." Edna Hammel was
the girl in "The Little Bride of Heaven" (Edison) ; Louise Sydmeth was the Polish lady
in the same play. •

A. B. C. — "Neptune's Daughter" was taken at Lake Superior. In "The Hermit"
(Essanay), William Mason was the hermit.

J. A. T., Halifax. — Florence Lawrence did not play opposite Arthur Johnson in
"Resurrection." The cost of the extra postage makes the magazine more expensive to
foreign subscribers.

Evelyn, N. H. — Ruth Roland was Tina in "Fat Bill's Wooing." They were real
negroes in "Roost, the Kidder" (Kalem).

Bobby P. B. — Gwendolen Pates is still with Path6 FrSrfis.

1625, J. A. B. — Charles Arthur was the minister in "The Derelict's Return" (Lubin).
"The Motherless Child" was not an Edison.

Lillian G. — Mae Buckley was the young woman in "Mother Love."

J. M. S., Stapleton. — ^There is no Arthur in the cast "For the Love of a Girl,"
unless you mean Charles Arthur. Virginia Chester was Dorothy in "The Sheriff's
Daughter" (Kalem). Gus Mansfield was Helen's brother in "The Minister and the
Outlaw." Al Swenson was Tom In "Betty and the Roses."

Dorothy, Newark. — Gertrude McCoy has never been with the Vitagraph.

S. P., Texas. — ^Martha Russell had the lead in "Neptune's Daughter." Louise
Glaum and Donald MacDonald had the leads in "When Is a Lemon?" (Nestor).

Elizabeth H., No. 15. — Alice Joyce is about twenty-three, if you call that young.
Judge for yourself which company has the best players.

N. B. — Nine pages of answers, verses, etc, have been crowded out. They will
appear in the Holiday Number. We shall add more pages for these departments in future.
Meanwhile, we will supply information by mail, as usual.

PHOTOPLAYS

PUHTflPI AY^ Criticism, reTisinn and typing for intelligent
r nUI UTLnl Oi aud earnest writers wh i desire careful wurk
at a fair price. Sand for free folder and scenario form.
A., K. K.£NItf£l>ir, 330t» l^Ch St., Philadelphia, Pa.

TOUR IDEA FOR A. MOVIXG PICTURE IS
-WORTH liti^S.OO TO igilOO.OO. I will put it into
projjer scenario for i required by producers and tell you where
to sell it. InierestitiK par iculars free. II. A. ELliIOT,
440 S. KeusiiiKton Avenue, I^a Grantee, 111.

TYPEWRITERS— SUPPLIES

•woxjLD ■yoxj

Show our who'ly visible Tspewriter to your friends and let
them see wherein it excels any $100 Typewriter made, if
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to keep forever as your own ? Then on a postal card, or in a
letter to us, simply say: Mail particulars.
EMERSON TYPEWRITER CO., Box 180, Woodstock, IIL

SALESMEN TO SELL SUN
TYPEWRITERS

Exclusive territory to rieht parties. Standard machine ; moderate price.
Sells itself and sells to others. Write for catalogue and tenns.

SUN TYPEWRITER CO.

319 BROADWAY, NEW YORK

Every Typewriter Ribbon and sheet of Car-
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factory has been made with the definite intention
of causing the person who may use that article
to want more just like it. Write for samples and
prices.

THE AULT & WIBORG CO. OF N. Y.
Cor. Pearl and Elm Sts., New York

REMIXOTOX TYPElirKITER 0X1.7 S18.T».

Most Interesting proposition ever mude. Bargains in every
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titandard Type\«'rlter JBxchauffe, SfiS PurkRow, N.'V.

ELECTRIC LIGHTING PLANTS

CI P^TDI^ Motion Picture Arc and Theatre Lighting Plants.
^^^^^ ■ ril\* f.o-Volt Direct Current will pave Un c<>.tt In a year.
(jives a Stcn'Uer and Brklitur Piriure ttiaii with Alierniitlng Current. Also
Portable I'lmitft for Travp'.hiK Shows. Fan Motors, Lamps, Telephone, House,
Street, aud Store Lighting Plants. Write ua o f your retjulrcincnts. Catalogue
3 cents. Ohio £lectrlc Works, Cleveland, Ohio

FEMALE HELP WANTED

LADIES

MiKF ^HIFI n^ at home, S10.00 per 100
™"*^'- OnlCLUJ Work sent prepairto re-
liable women. Particulars for stamped envel-
Eureba Co., Sept. 19, Kalamazoo, Mich.

WANTED

$10 Cash Paid

PER 1,000 FOR CANCEI.I.EI>

Postage Stnmps. 8end lOo f r Price
ListFald. A.8COTT«Cohoe>,N.~X'.

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All expenses included

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We have increased our service this season to

8 CRUISES

by the S. S. Moltke, January 4, 23, Febru-
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April 10, 1913.

Two cruises from New Orleans January 23
and February 10, by well-known steamships.

Comprehensive Tour of the

ORIENT

from New York January 28, 1913, by Steam-
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cruise, $325 and up, including all landing and
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Delightful Cruise

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Sailing from San Francisco, February 6, 1913,
by S. S. Cleveland (1 7,000 Tons), duration
1 10 days. Cost $630 up, including all neces-
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Write for booklet, stating €ruise

HAMBURG-AMERICAN UNE

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St. Louis

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF THC QOeSTlON MAH

SIR fOU pto'in\f*s-^£^ MvFlfTIETM AMO^I'^T'ETH

Zirtuw T»te A«!»vf«s. <^ cn'\ni vu.tauH -jwcrc up.

AWPUu rte*^DAC«c. I S MAAy f''£HI'ff«0 M *»fl#TtfrTAI1T

^EPI FHtrt. 1 AM Alin VOUTO ToiO lie Tupin't/Kr

sHe HAve (Mt.auitT,Aii- T«e timc cowijpv.

HOHTT^U Pfc/T THE OUTtflOC H'^r^C . I i-ftl^ H/M.
WHAT FOB YOO NO »0T S*Me IVIoRt OUMN V, Ij

fJin\ -/CO «Mii. IT- F'««v;;;7-y/r« r-rftsirj

5AY yOf LOSjr LOOKIN' Piece O' SCfMCRV,

IP YOU 0tiiH<i iH Any Moae of tk/»t
To»1« TO P'SY yoon Wire w#a<t Know
Vuu FOR « WSEK. Honesr i rmnHOf
tot/ AMO M MtA-r ctiupi>e fi tnm n«e i see YoV.

r««V itlO-AfS TXE'WVOBRf'lN M»T(»rH ATthrfe
P.M. HE CUlftO. IT(J fST'MATdO, UC»t 3£W£M
?R»ir<ARV hem; OITC M OlMfte (rt A CR« WQAsT, '
(HO C«A<»f A V*>»l.t TCK Ptei >»Wflt WlTA Ortfe

SVC. we ««*» /liW^v* situ.i.Linl uncmmci ft/RniNci

^r FjVe PM. THE TAHlTpd /»rlO eoiTOI^ PICK

yriiria our oi» a /Sack Paerter.nMo OBCtin
crteFi»if<ftM"n UP ov TtuiHCi «>« «f'n. »»»»<
oe ocHo. . "on me nefie tte ts. .

(Imagined and tketchcd by Becnard Callaghei)

All the News of the Kalem Companies

is contained in the KALENDAR, issued twice each month

Full reviews of coming productions, handsomely illustrated. Interesting news
items from the Kalem companies in different parts of the world. Latest portraits
of the leading players. Special articles on timely topics. Complete casts of
characters for each production.

One Year's Subscription, $1 .00 in advance. Address

KALEM COMPANY, 235 W. 23d St., New York City

162

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS

{Continued from page 133
TO CARLYLE BLACKW

For my favorite player, did you ask?
I tbink that is no easy task.
But I'll describe, and we will see
If you can guess wbp it may be.

With a new Venus, Alice Joyce,
Plays the Adonis of my choice.
His height and brilliant smile, I ween,^
Will give a clue to whom I mean. ,

Now id Kalem pictures seen,
In the Vitagraph he has been,
As^ere you will often meet him,
^ut never as a villain greet him.

His hair is of the darkest hue ;
His eyes do match it, very true.
But, oh ! you ought to see him smile.
And you'd know it Is Carlyle.

Yes, Carlyle Blackwell is his name.
You do not know him? What a shame!
But if you want to see hira. go
To any first-class Picture Show.

Brooklyn. Dokotht Rooen.

I've seen many kinds of girls,
Eyes of blue and golden curls ;
Laughing blonde and gay brunette.
Girls of almost every set ;
Hair of darkness, eyes of brown.
Girls who smile and girls who frown.
But there's one who cant be beat ;
Just to see her is a treat.
She has a captivating way —
My favorite in the I'icture Play.

Fishklll-on-Hudson, N. Y.

When she pouts she's quite entrancing.

When she smiles, my heart goes dancing.

Every Wednesday night I go

To see her — in a Photoshow.

Tho of my life she forms no part,

I love this girl with all my heart

If I'd short hair, instead of curls.

And were a boy, and not a girl.

When the time came for a mate for life,

I'd like Miss Robinson for my wife.

Alice R. Develyn.

The following readers call for the portraits of, praise the acting and
charms of, and contribute letters and verses to the players mentioned. We
regret tliat lack of space necessitates doing them more justice ; but cheer up,
friends — ^we are promised a voting contest soon : Andrew Martin, San Fran-
cisco, Cal., to Flora Finch and John Bunny (Vita) ; Paul V. Chute, Hastings,
Neb., to Edith Storey (Vita) ; Lena Hiken, St. Louis, Mo., to Owen Moore
(Victor) ; Sylvia M. Born, N. Y. City, to "Jean" (Vita) ; "B. V. G.," Fred-
erick, Md., to Francis X. Bushman (Ess.) ; Elsie Clark, Hot Springs, Ark.,
and Sydney Russell, Boston, Mass., to Florence Lawrence (Victor) ; "Arizona
Kid" to G. M. Anderson (Ess.) ; "S. A. J.," Jersey City, N. J., to Carlyle
Blackwell (Kalem) and Florence Turner (Vita).

Among many other expressions of sympathy, we have received letters and
verses to Miss Bertram's memory from "D. "W.," "One who feels her loss
greatly," Ida M. Strong and Auistin A. Lincoln. We will forward them, with
others, to her parents.

"A Harrisburger" writes of her interest in the magazine, particularly the
Greenroom Jottings. She is an ardent admirer of Gilbert M. Anderson, and,
like many others, was greatly shocked when she read of his narrow escape from
death during the making of a Broncho Billy film. By the way, we have had a
lot of letters about this narrow escape of Mr. Anderson's. Wonder how it
feels to know that so many girls are horrified over one's mishaps?

We have had interesting letters, drawings or verse from the following
readers, and wish we had room to print every one of them : F. J. H., Motion
Picture Fan, H. M. H., Frederick Mitchell, Ruby Dancy, E. C. H., Lillian L.
Reiss, S. N., Mert Murray, J. L. Moore, Bessie Starr, Estella Edward, The
Jonah Club, R. C. M., Pauline Ettinger, L. R., A. J. Horner, Willie Doolittle,
R, G. E. K., The Sandcrab, Mrs. J. H. Peck, D. B.

I Write Scenarios for
Moving Picture Plays

Great demand. Bic prices. No great literary talent
necessary. THE^MERY COURSE wifl teach
you how to find popular plots, how to work them out,
and where to sell them. Learn qui'kly at small co' t.
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in Short Story Writing, Novel Writing and Jour*
nalism. Write for Free Booklet JI-23.

IntercontinentSLl University

Wnnhlnicton, D. C.

Cliarlfred by Cimfjress. Fou titled by the late Supreme

Cimrt Juatire Dnriil J. lirftver, former Senator

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Martin A. Knapp and other famoits men.

Gives all the essenlial details. Shows what and what not to
write; completed and practice scenarios. Replete with inval-
uable information. Book 25 cents (U. S. coin).

DEANS PUBLISHING COMPANY

32 East 3d Avenue CINCINNATI, OHIO

Motion Picture Plays, :i'"Lwr'w^K''Jii

ni . J IJ Hr ■ J Motion Picture Plays, Plots

riots and Ideas VV anted and ideas. BIs demand and

big pay for them. Advanced
education is not necessary; all you have to know is how to read and write.
Ihisboolc. by Leona Radnor (writer for the Motion Picture Story
Magazine) , tells all that anyone can teach you on the subject. It
contains a model scenario and list of film producers — tells what they
want and how to reach them. Coupon calling for h'ee^ criticism of
your scenario with each book. Price 50c. by mail postpaid.
Leona Radnor, 118M East 28th St., New York City

FOR SALE

FOR SAI.E-ETenlne a-onns, n-rapn, etc. Also old-
fasbioiicd dresses of Dickens nnd CiviMVar period. Also IclJ
and satin slippers 25 and 50 cenis pair. Curios.s 'uvenirs, etc.,
at reasonable ]>rlcos. Address "Van," care of M. P. Story
Magazine. 26 Court Street, Itroolclyn, N. V.

Here is part of a letter that came to
the Technical Bureau of The Moxioh
Picture Story Magazine:

"As your reply to my question of
Sept. 31st was very satisfactory, I
am enclosing another fee for advice
as to how to conduct the new con-
tract.

"E. & E. Claeke Film Co.

"(Olean, N. Y.)"

See announcement of Technical Bu-
reau on another page. The information
they furnish is absolutely reliable.

THIS BOOK IS FREE!

Tlie above illustration is reproduced from the cover pace of
Flint's marvelous book. Ten thousand of tbt^^e books will be
given away absolutely free In ortier to advertise his college.
You can have a copy while the present edition lasts. It tells
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Herbert X.. Flint, Bept. 504-A, Cleveland, Ohio.

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THE "NIAGARA" CLIP

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NIAGARA. CLIP COMPASY, NEW YORK CITY

"Largest CUp Makers In tbe World."

by many critics
The recital of her

164 POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS

We gladly print this tribute to Ormi Hawley, cons;
the most beautiful woman now appearing in photoplay
recent plays is helpful to playgoers :

MY LUBIN QUEE

HE first time that I saw her on the anijiiated screen,

It gave me such impressions that ever since I've been
A slave devoted to the plays wliicii are the picture rage,
With Lubin's Ormi Hawley in the center of the stage.

When she reformed "Kid Ho'gan" and made him change his ways,
The lovely story haunted me for many nights and days.
And then I feasted on the tale "The Choir of Deiisniore" told.
And brought to mind "The Shepherd's Flute," a story never old.

And then I saw her playing in a tale called "Fire and Straw" —
The most pathetic incident I think I ever saw.

And then 'twas "Honor and the Sword," in which she fought for life.
And won the'honored title of a worthy lover's wife.

"The Social Secretary" next brought Ormi into fame,

And "His Mistake" and "Love and Tears" shed luster on her name.

And then "A Cure for .Jealousy," altho a funny play.

Was charming, and I'd like to see one like it every day.

And still a score of others, all too numerous to tell,
Give me the recreation I have learned to love so well.
Oh, charming Ormi Hawley, of all the girls I've seen,
Tou are the loveliest of all, "My Gorgeous liUbin Queen !"
Portland, Me.

"Favorita."

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YOU CAN EARN BIG MONEY WRITING PHOTO-PLAYS!

Great demand. We teach only SURE method of writ-
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Our graduates are SELLING their plays. Send for our
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OFFER.

CHICAGO PHOTO-PLAYWRICHT COLLEGE
Box 278 F, Chicago

IlIO MONEY 'WRITIKOSONOS OK BIVMIC. Write
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INVESTMENTS

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Special Renting Terms to MmHng Picture Companies

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Best of all — the flesh "stays put."

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No one need know what you are doing until your
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Here is the special offer for the purpose of con-
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tablets will do just exactly what is claimed for them.
It has been arranged to distribute for the next ten
days for the coupon below a free 50-cent package of
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This large 50-cent free package will be sent you
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If you want to add ten, twenty, or even thirty
pounds of good, solid flesh to your bones, do not
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All that you have to do is to cut out the coupon
below and send it, with your name, address and ten
cents to pay for distribution expenses, to the Sargol
Co., 438-Y Herald Bldg., Binghamton. N. Y.

FREE COUPON

To the Sargol Company, 438-Y, Herald Bldg.,
Bingham.ton, N. Y,
Gentlemen — I am a reader of The Motion Picture
Story Magazine, and desire a Free 50-cent package
of Sargol, in accordance with your generous offer.
I enclose 10 cents to help defray expenses.
PIN THIS TO YOUR LETTER

166

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS

Mrs. H. M. Penny, of Jersey Shore, Pa., writes us a cozy letter and,
among other things, states that she is going to "put on her old gray bonnet"
and drive twenty miles to see Cleo Ridgely in the flesh as she passes thru
Camden on her horseback trip across the Continent.

A toast to a talented Vitagraph player :

TO ROSE TAPLEY.

I'd count my life lived incomplete.

And rail at Fate the while,
Had I been destined not to meet

My Rose, and her sweet smile.
Los Angeles. M. R. W.

Rose's playmate, Clara, has all kinds of eyes but unpopularize :

Eyes, eyes, eyes,
Eyes that talk to you,
Eyes that mock you,
Eyes that laugh at you.

Eyes that
Tantalize,
Sympathize,
Paralyze
Your tongue —
Are the eyes of
Clai'a Kimball Young.
Cleveland, Ohio.

E. T.

Seven pages of other verses and comments have been crowded out, but will appear in the Holiday Number

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These PARrs BOW Clasp Pins are made in ROSE GOID s.atin finish
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^''MSfJ'S S'""'''"'"' o' ""■"y "f""''"<- AGENTS WA.\TED,
BKMT MliVKK CO., Uepl.b.p., 83 ChuDben St, K.I.CItr*

MERCY HOSPITAL,

Chicago, 111., Oct. 17th. '12.
H. A. SPANUTH.

New York G^, N. Y.

Dear Sir:

Colonel Roosevelt wishes me to express
to you his heaurty thctnks for your kind tele-
gram of sympathy. He is doing well. Love
to "Movie." Yg^ t^y y^„j^

(Signed) ELBERT E. MARTIN.

Secretary,

The following statement was filed with the Brooklyn Postmaster on Oct. 3, and is here published as
required by law:

STATEMENT OF THE OWNERSHIP, MANAGEMENT, CIRCULATION, ETC., of THE
MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, published MONTHLY, at BROOKLYN, N. Y., required by
the Act of August 24, 191 2.

NAME 01-— POST-OFFICE ADDRESS

Editor, EUGENE V. BREWSTER 26 COURT STREET, BROOKLYN.

Managing Editor, " " .

Business Managers, " "

Publisher,THE M. P. PUBLISHING CO "

Owners: (If a corporation, give names and addresses of stockholders holding i per cent, or more of
total amount of stock.)

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Known Iwndholders, mortgagees, and other security holders, holding i per cent, or more of total amount
of bonds, mortgages, or other securities:
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„„ THE M. P. PUBLISHING CO.
P" EUGENE V. BREWSTER, Business Manager,
Sec. & Treas.
Sworn to and subscribed before me this 2d day of October, 1Q12.

SAMUEL F. EDMEAD, Notary Public, Kings Co.
[Seal] M y commission expires March, 1913.

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THE PHOTO PLAY DRAMATIST

A Snappy Journal ofPungcnt Criticism and Cdmniont
A Trea-sury ofSuggestlons ofIue«tlmalila Value to Writers
Ifyoa are a -wrltef or conlumplata becoming oue
you cannot aftorcl to bo without this valued medium. 8 Mo.
Trial Subscription 25 cents. Silver or Stamps.

The Photo Play Dramatist

Caxton B'ld'g,
Cleveland, Ohio

JAJiES Young, of the \'iti>j;rjipli Company, wrote the photoplay of "The Little Minis-
ter." We learnt this fact too late to give him credit ou the story. He also
played the leading part in that clever piece.

Lily Bransconil)e, alas, lias left the Kssanay Compan.v. This will he a disappoint-
ment to her many friends. She has not yet nmde arrangements for the future.

The Thanliouser Company worked two hvnidred people, including twenty principals,
for four weelvs. in jiroducing "The Star of Bethlehem," at a cost of $8,000. They made
seven reels, from whlcli only three were selected for the final film.

More bad news. Mar.v I'ickford has left the Biograph Compan.v. She gave a
farewell liall at her hotel at Eighty-sixth Street and Broadway, New York City, on
October 2.")tli. at which were present a great many photoplay celebrities, who were
only too willing to do her honor.

Still more iiad news. Kdwin August has left the Lubin Company.

The Essana.v Company are now selling pictures of their players. We are glnd
that they have joined the i)rocession at last.

Charles Kent (Vitagraph) has just recovered from a severe attack of pneumonia.
W. V. Ranous, another director of the same company, has entirely recovered from the
.same illness. We hope tliat laieuuionia will be less popular at the Vitagraph studio.

.Tack CliU'k and (Jene (Jauntier are bade in America and are at the New Y'ork
studio. They recently went to Virginia with Sidney Olcott's company to make a
Virginia reel. Tlicy are now doing international pictures, which are pictures made
partly here and partly abroad.

Iteport has it that Florence Lawrence will return to Arthur Johnson, of the Lubin Co.

The I'athe Frercs Company has been making some very ijieturesque nautical
pictures along the coast.

Mary Fuller, Marc McDermott and Miriam Nesliitt came back from London on
October 22d, and are now working at the I<>dison studio in tlie Bronx, N. Y, City.

Francis X. Bushman (Essanay) came near being a criminal recentl,v. He was
playing the part of a Three-Card Monte Man at the fair grounds and was arrested
by the constable. He told the constable that he was only playing. The constable
said, "Yes, I saw you." At last the constable learnt that he was only play-playing.

Howard Jlitchell is the standing joke of the Lubin Company. He is about to get
married again (in a picture).

Watcli out for "Dr. Bridget," in which John Bunny and Flora Finch are said to
be more funn.v than ever.

Benjamin Wilson and Jessie McAllister (Edison) are one and the same; that is
to say, they are married, and in marriage one and one make one.

More bad news. Edna Fisher, of tlie Vitagraph Western Company, is married.
Since she married Mr. Sturgeon, the director, it is probably good news to her,

Joe Smiley (Lubin) asks us the following unanswerable question: "As I am
Smiley, wliy is I'eter Grimm?"

The Kalem Company, pursuant to their usual policy, have taken Jack JIcGowan from
the players' list and made him a director. He now has a ICalem ('ompaiiy of his own.

(Juy Coonilis and Anna Q. Nllsson are still with the Kalem Company in Florida.
By the way. an interview with Guy Coombs in the January issue.

Edna Flugrath (Edison) has just done a fine bit of work in "Donovan's Division,"
which is a thrilliug railroad play.

168

"THE MILLS OF THE GODS"

IN THREE ACTS

From George P. Dillenback's novel of same name. Published by The Broadway PublUhmg Co., New York City

A Modem Drama that palpitates with fire and power. The
most vigorous acting by the greatest artists who have ever
infused a reproduction of life on the stage or on the screen.

DRAMA

THE MODEL OF ST. JOHN. The boy and the

man.
ROMANCE OF A RICKSHAW. In India.
THE ANARCHIST'S WIFE. A deep-laid plol.
THE WOOD VIOLET. Idyllic.
THE SCOOP. A newspaper woman's experience.

MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGERS. From Charles
Dickens.

SIX O'CLOCK. Momentous.

COMEDY

Up in a

THE UNEXPECTED HONEYMOON.

balloon.

THE EAVESDROPPER. ) Two refined

THREE GIRLS AND A MAN. i comedies.

COMEDIES

SUSIE TO SUSANNE. What's in a name?
ABSENT-MINDED VALET. Fat and forgetful.
THE REINCARNATION OF BILLIKEN.

Among the cannibals.
TOO MANY CASEYS. Real Irish comedy.
IN THE FLAT ABOVE. A neighborly jar.

IRISH DRAMA

WILD PAT. An Irish hero.

O'HARA, SQUATTER AND PHILOSOPHER.

A peacemaker.

WESTERN

OMENS OF THE MESA. Drama that grips.
UNA OF THE SIERRAS. Bright and natural.

VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA

170 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

The large presence of Opie Read will be seen and felt to advantage in "The
Starbucks" (American). Since Mr. Read measures six feet three from crown to toe,
and almost as much the other way, he will make a fine Jasper Starbuck.

Fred Mace and Mark Sennet are doing the famous detective series, for the Keystone
Company, formerly made famous by the Biograph Company. These two celebrated
sleuths have already unraveled several intricate detective problems, d la Sherlock
•Holmes, and, as usual, they always unravel them in the wrong way, Mabel Normand
and Marguerite Loveridge usually being the victims.

Harold Shaw is not playing any more for the Edison Company, but he is still
directing for them.

Siegmund Liubin has invented a device for showing Moving Pictures at home. His idea
Is that every family should keep a record in film form of its children at different ages.

They do say that Ruth Stonehouse (Essanay) did some of her best dramatic work
in "Chains."

Carlyle Blackwell's Kalem Company is now doing some historical Indian pictures,
in most of which Mr. Blackwell is the trapper.

Edna Hammel, the star child-actress of the Edison Company, who is only about
eight years old, has made quite a hit in "A Christmas Accident," to be released in
December. Augustus Phillips also shows to good advantage in this interesting and
timely play.

Lillian Walker (Vitagraph) has evidently been saving her money. She is spending it
now, however, on a new home that she has just purchased for herself in Flatlmsh, B'kiyn.

The Kalem Company have decided to release "From the Manger to the Cross" 'round
about the holidays. They recently gave a private exhibition of this reniarkable play
to two thousand or more preachers and others in London, similar to the superb one
that they recently gave at Wanamaker's, New York City.

Albert W. Hale, formerly of the Thanhouser Company, has joined the Majestic
forces. Among Mr. Hale's achievements was "The Birth of the Lotus Blossom."

The Kalem Company have added a new star to their already starry firmament. It is
Thomas Moore. He now shines as luminously as his brother, Owen Moore, of the Victor
Company, which is saying a great deal.

Evelyn Selbie, formerly of the M61i6s Company, is now playing with the Essanay
Western Co. Her experience and expertness on horseback will now come in vei-y handy.

On October 21st, Hiram Abrams gave a private Motion Picture entertainment for
President Taft, at the Dreamland Theater, Beverly, Mass.

Ruth Roland and John Brennan (Kalem), while accomplished dramatic players,
are rapidly gaining a reputation as comedians. That's always the way : when we want
to be funny, we cant, and when we want to be serious, they wont let us.

The Essanay Company is building a new studio and factory at Niles, Cal., where
6. M. Anderson and company are located.

Gertrude McCoy was the leading lady of the Edison Company during the absence
of Mary Fuller, Laura Sawyer and Miriam Nesbltt.

Florence Turner (Vitagraph) is still working on "L'Aiglon." She says it is to be
her masterpiece. All right ; but kindly hurry up — we want to see it

The Independents were doubtless very happy at the capture of Pearl White from
the Licensed forces. The Crystal Company is profiting by her popularity.

Next month, a picture of Jack Richardson and Fred Mace In our Gallery of
Players. This is the result of several thousand (more or less) letters to our Answers Man.

Entertaining Edith Storey (Vitagraph) and Young Yale Boss (EdLson) will soon
be seen in two newspaper stories, the first in "The Scoop," and the second in a comedy,
"The Totville Eye."

H. A. Spanuth, of the General Film Publicity and Sales Company, is delighted over
the acquisition of the celebrated Charlotte De Felice, a French and Italian beauty of
note, as leading lady. She was the model for Edward Boyer's famous picture "The
Beggar Girl." Miss Charlotte's pretty picture will appear in our January Gallery.

The latest from the Edison studio is that William Wordsworth has chased Edward
O'Connor in a barrel. Wait, and you will see the result

FREE TO YOU

Twelve Beautiful Portraits
of Motion Picture Players

Instead of buying The Motion Picture Story Magazine from month to month, why
not become a regular subscriber and have it mailed each month direct to you ?

SPECIAL OFFER TO SUBSCRIBERS

By buying in large quantities we cire able to make you this remarkable offer — 12
beautiful colored art portraits of motion picture players FREE with one
year's subscription to The Motion Picture Story Magazine.

These portraits are reproduced on fine heavy coated paper of size suitable for framing,
and will make handsome decorations for your homes. They are not for salw and cannot
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The portraits alone are valued at 50c. each. The 12 portraits and one year's subscrip'
tion are now offered to you for only $1.50.

LIST OF PORTRAITS

ALICE JOYCE CARLYLE BLACKWELL FLORENCE LAWRENCE

MAURICE COSTELLO G. M. ANDERSON MARION LEONARD

ARTHUR JOHNSON MILDRED BRACKEN GWENDOLEN PATES

MARY FULLER FRANCIS X. BUSHMAN FLORENCE TURNER

Subscribe Now. Begin your subscription with the December number, and we will at
once send by mail the portreuts that have already appeared : — Mary Fuller, Maurice Costello,
Alice Joyce, Arthur Johnson, G. M. Anderson, and Florence Lawrence.

The others you will get one each month with your magazine. Just fill out attached
blank and mail with remittance (Stamps, Check or P. O. Order). Dont delay until you
forget it. Do it today.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 COURT STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Sirs: — Enclosed find $1.50 ($2.00 Canada, $2.50 Foreign), for which send me The Motion Picture

Story Magazine for one year, beginning with the number, together with the

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Name

Street . . .City State

172 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

When Colonel Roosevelt was shot. H. A. Spanuth telegraphed his sympathy, for
which the colonel telegraphed his thanks, and added : "Love to Movie." Very thoughtful,
considering that he had a bullet in his breast.

Romaine Fielding (Lubin) has become a real Deputy Sheriff out at Prescott, Ariz.
Being a Corsican by birth, and an American by choice, and a fine actor by talent, we
can now expect some real live stuff from the Western Lubin Company.

The Universal Company now controls Nestor, 101 Bison, Imp, Crystal, Champion,
Powers, Gem, Victor, Rex, Eclair and Milano plays.

Mildred Bracken and the M61i6s Company are still making pictures in the South
Sea Islands.

Ormi riawley, noted for her beauty and charms, is known in Philadelphia as the
Lubin Queen.

Among the favorite topics in the greenrooms these days is the writing and market-
ing of photoplays by the players. Nearly every player thinks he or she can write a
photoplay, and they cannot understand why each and every one of these plays is not
accepted.

Rosemary Theby (Vitagraph) has made a decided hit in an Arabian picture of
South Sea adventure, entitled "The Curio Hunters."

In the person of Chester Barnett, the stage has lost a star, and the Crystal Company
has gained one.

Hazel Neason (Kalem) likes to write plays and then act in them. While she is
a most pleasant, modest and unassuming girl, out of the studio, she makes a typical
and excellent rowdy and "poor shop girl" on the screen.

Alice Hollister, who took the place of Gene Gauntier in "The Kerry Gow" during
Miss Gauntier's absence in America, surprised herself with her good work. She shared
the honors with Jack Clark, the hero.

The favorite topic in the greenrooms, and all over the studios these days, is about
the "Great Mystery Play." Everybody has a different solution, and nobody knows who
is right

The Lubin tourists, including Mae Hotely, George Reehm, Walter Stull, the Misses
Ne Meyer and about, twenty others are again at Jacksonville, Fla., for the winter.

If somebody will state who is the prettiest of the following five pretty women, it
will save our Answers Man a great deal of trouble : Evebelle Prout, Dolores Cassinelli,
Beverly Bayne, Ruth Stonehouse, and Mildred Weston.

Mr. E. G. Routzahn informs us that he has brought about the introduction of
Motion Pictures in the Department of Surveys and Exhibits of the Russell Sage
Foundation for "Making cities to be better places in which to live."

The physicians and hospitals in Philadelphia have found that It pays to stand in
with the Lubin Company. That company has again made some scientific medical films
for the benefit of Science.

When you see Mildred Weston (Essanay) in "The Discovery," you will know that
this popular young player has nerve as well as talent. This play required that Miss
Weston be knocked unconscious by a swiftly passing automobile.

It is said that Warren Kerrigan (American) likes to receive letters from his
admirers, and that he answers them. We wish he would answer a few hundred of
those we receive about him.

The famous Alkali Ike, otherwise known as Augustus Carney, has left the Western
and joined the Eastern Essanay Company. Since there is never any loss without some
gain, we dont care much. As long as Ike is, we do not care where he is. To be frank,
however, we wish he would join the Vitagraph Company, or that John Bunny and
Flora Finch would join the Essanay Company. It would be a three-base hit.

Maurice Costello and his two charming child-players will soon be seen in an
excellent Vitagraph Christmas play.

Leo Delaney (Vitagraph) has dispossessed himself from his Huntington home and
has organized a new one in Brooklyn for himself and bride.

David Kirkland is the latest edition to G. M. Anderson's Western Essanay Company.

The Solax Company announces a new play entitled "Flesh and Blood — ^a film with
a punch." We thought prize-fighting films were prohibited.

Special Features

OCTOBER 28, 1912

■^

Pathe— FRENZIED FINANCE— 3 Reels

Claude Rodgers, a reckless gambler, falls heir to a banking business through the will of his
father-in-law. The bank, when he receives it, is staple and secure, but Rodgers immediately
launches a " Get-rich-quick" scheme and starts a campaign to get depositors by promises of
fabulous interest. The bzmk soon becomes the largest, cJthough not the safest, in the Eeist.
But good things cannot last forever, and with his wife's sickness Rodgers' luck turns. A run
on the bank is the next misfortune, and because of Rodgers' extravagance it cannot stand the
strain. Amidst a scene of wild disorder at the Stock Exchange, the bank's stock collapses.
A mob of ruined depositors storms the home of the banker, pursuing him through the rooms,
until they find that a bullet from his revolver has brought his reckless career to a close.

NOVEMBER 4. 1912

THE MILLS OF THE GODS

VITAGRAPH— 3 Reels

Signore Lorenzo, a wealthy and eunbitious plebeian, seeks to dethrone Prince Giein of Milan.
Lorenzo becomes eneunored with Maria, a beautiful peasant girl, who repulses his attentions
and is protected by Miguel, whom she soon msuries. Through Lorenzo's influence they are
driven from home into direct poverty, and Meiria's death soon follows. Miguel later
acquires wealth, but agciin falls victim to Lorenzo's treachery, who bribes his servant, Tano,
to incinerate Miguel's property. Lorenzo's attempts to steal Miguel's beautiful daughter
and usurp the throne are foiled, and he is betrayed by Tano into a vacant house ; the
place is fired, and his life ground out by the Mills of the Gods, that are inexorable in
their ultimate gristing of souls.

NOVEMBER 11, 1912

Selig-KINGS OF THE FOREST— 2 Reels

II SUPERLATIVE PRODUCTION BY THE POPULAR SELIG PLAYERS ..

erveral

-1

Thomas A. Edison announces
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The

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Ask your Edison dealer
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SUBSCRIPTION REPRESENTATIVES WANTED

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WANTS SITBSCRIPTION REPRESENTA.TIVES

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Presidents and Politicians
Pontiffs and Princes

Have Appeared in the Famous

PATHf S WEEKLY

If you want intimate living portraits of the world's most eminent
men — if you are interested in the personalities of the world's rulers

See Them at the Theatres Featuring
the Unsurpassed

Pathe's Weekly

The Czar of Russia The U. S. President

The German Kaiser The French President

The King of Spain The Cuban President

The King of England The Portuguese President

The King of Greece The Sultan of Morocco

The King of Roumania The Khedive of Egypt

The King of Italy The King of Montenegro

The Sultan of Turkey The King' of Belgium

The Bey of Tunis The King of Bulgaria

The King of Saxe The King of Sweden

The King of Servia The Queen of Holland

and the members of their families have all appeared on the screen
in the world's greatest film,

Pathe's Weekly

See If Every Week, Everywhere

POWER'S CAMERAGRAPH No. 6A

WHY IT IS

THE BEST MOVING PICTURE MACHINE

Any article universally used, must excel in merit. Isn't
that true? The Paul Rainey and Carnegie Alaska-
Siberia pictures are projected by Power's Camera-
graphs only. Dwight Elmendorf, Lymcin H. Howe,
Burton Holmes — lecturers of the highest standing — all use
Power's Cameragraphs only. WHY? Because
it is the machine that projects absolutely flickerless pictures
and possesses individual features which, for fifteen years,
have given it pre-eminence and procleiim it today the mod-
em motion picture machine.

Results count. That's why Power's Cameragraph
does 60 per cent, of the moving picture machine business
and is found in all the prominent houses in America.

Power's Cameragraph is known around the world.

Write for Catalogue M giving full details.

NICHOLAS POWER COMPANY. 90 Gold Street, NEW YORK

For Fifteen Years the Leading Makers of Motion Picture Machines.

IF YOU WANT TO KNOW ANYTHING

ASK THE TECHNICAL BUREAU

Owing to tlie lnrse number of requests for information of a teohnieal nature that
will not interest the general reader, The Motion Picture Story Magazine anuouuees
the establishment of a

BUREAU OF TECHNICAL EXPERTS

whose services will be at the conunand of tlie readers of this magazine.

• ANSWERS WILL BE PROMPT, BY LETTER OR WIRE

Among those included on the staff are :

E|ies Winthroii Sargent, who is an accepted authority on the details of House
Management. Advertising. Road Management, etc.

Will C. Smith will answer questions relating to the Motion Picture machines, their
installation, use. etc.

Mr. George C. Hedden, one of the best informed men In the world on all questions
of film service, will have charge of that branch of the service.
Electrical matters will be handled by an expert.

By special arrnnf^eiiient the Bureau is able t<> announce tlie purely nominal fee of one
dollar for each question that does not involve extended research. No charj^e fur addresses
n'hen a stamped return envelope is sent.

Arrangements can he made for special service hy corresiiondence.

PURCHASING DEPARTMENT

The Bureau will also act as Purchasing Agent for out-of-town exhibitors, and is
in a position to command the lowest terms and quickest service. Correspondence is
solicited.

Address all communications TECHNICAL BUREIAU

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

PRESS OF WILLIAM G, HEWITT, 61-67 NAVY ST,, BROOKLYN, N, Y,

TO THE PUBLIC

$500,000 GIVEN AWAY

for admission to

oving Picture Theatres

with

T0KTO

CIGARETTES

This means money to you

FACSIMILE

-lo-
ot these
coupons ^
are worth
5 cents

( THE AMERICAN TOBACCO CO. .
FLAGS OF ALL NATIONS

Assorted in Five series of 25 each. Order hy number, I, 2, 3, 4 or 5,
and specify I-'4B4^%'s: desireck ^^ Uni|edf State|#Areece^rj|and. Elngland.
Italy, France,^nf;]^^inf^*l^°^^4&^^V"tAwlV^>'y' Cana<ia.
Turkey, Russia!

specify Urge Butterfltl^Virf\q|m^!jlQfl 4]

INDIAN HEADS

Assc*
specify Lan

-number, 1 or 2. and
Jr6.

or 2* and

Assorted in One series o^z5. Specify Large Animal Pet desired by

""-'" "m£ AMfifOQAilf aiGfiACGO GO.

Assorted in One series of 25. Specify Large Bathing Girl desired by
number 1,2,3,4. 5 or 6.

In case our stock of any of the above becomes exhausted, we reserve the
right to substitute. (SEE OTHER SIDE^

-lo-
ot these
coupons

are worth
5 cents

J THEAMEraCANMrOBAOCOCO.^
These coupons are guaranteed, and wilt be redeemed in any quantities for their face value by

THE AMERICAN TOBACCO CO.

Exhibitor

if you have not. heard of this offer fill out
the corner and post it to us and we will
send full particulars.

I am the owner of the undermentioned
Theatre

Name

Theatre.

Address

Town

State

THE AMERICAN TOBACCO CO.

Ill Fifth Avenue
New York